In your dreams
by K.C.Dragonfly
Summary: There are some memories which are better forgotten; and there are some which can kill you. The ghosts of a past retribution return to haunt the team and turn their every waking - and sleeping - moment into a living nightmare. One, two ... Freddy's coming for you...
1. Chapter 1

**Good evening (/morning/afternoon) lovely people :) I am still in the process of editing and re-posting Family Portrait, but I feel like I need a new project to be working on as well. Having reviewed some of my planned stories, this one stood out, so this is the one we're going with :) **

**It contains some supernatural themes, so you've been warned. It will be based in part on The Woman in Black and also on Nightmare on Elm Street. Beyond that, you'll just have to read it to find out what it's about!  
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**Much of the dialogue in this chapter is taken from Season 4 episode No More Bets. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the films/books the plot is based on and I am not making any pennies from this story. **

**Enjoy! :)**

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><p><strong>California – Late September 1979<strong>

Hidden beneath a mask of wispy grey smoke, the bright orange flames licked fervently at a dusky autumnal sky. The wooden shack crackled, ancient beams splintering and singeing before their very eyes.

But even the roar of the fire was not enough to disguise his desperate screams. As the walls started to collapse inward, sealing him inside his blazing tomb, the gathered men watched on in haunted silence.

They would never speak of this again. Once the noise ceased and the building was nothing more than a handful of dying embers, they would go back to their respective lives and try to forget the atrocities that had happened in these evil woods.

There would be no police reports. No murder investigation.

Nobody would remember him. They had made sure of that.

* * *

><p><strong>Las Vegas – Spring, 2004<strong>

"I'm curious, what bothers you more? The fact that you couldn't pin a murder on me; or that Catherine cashed my cheque."

Grissom's hands stilled and he rose slowly to meet Sam's level gaze.

"There were no strings on that money." The mogul continued, rolling his shoulders back in a mildly threatening gesture.

Grissom took off his orange goggles, revealing the cold stare lurking behind them.

"Just because you can't see something," he cocked a distrustful eyebrow, "doesn't mean it's not there."

* * *

><p>"Hello?" Catherine bellowed, tossing her keys into the wooden bowl by her front door and waiting for a response to her greeting.<p>

Eventually, heavy footfalls on the stairs signalled her daughter's presence and Lindsey stumbled into her view.

"Mom?" The eleven-year-old frowned. "What are you doing home?"

"Oh, I had a few hours of vacation time to use up." She lied. "I thought, since it's not a school night, we could sit up and watch a movie together?"

Lindsey, already in her pyjamas and slippers, didn't even pretend to consider the friendly offer.

"No thanks, I'm busy."

Before Catherine could enquire what was keeping her child entertained at this late hour, the girl had vanished back upstairs without another word.

"Fine." Cath sighed, sloping into the lounge. Her mother was already asleep, sprawled ungracefully on the couch with a book propped open across her chest.

Draping a blanket across Lily's body, Catherine mulled over her options.

She wasn't allowed back to work tonight, thanks to Sam's ever-growing hold over this infernal city. Lindsey was clearly not interested in spending time with her. Nancy would be working tonight.

So that left her with one other person to call on.

She hadn't really wanted to see him tonight, but she wasn't going to sit alone while her mother slept through 60 Minutes either.

Grabbing her cell phone, she dialled the familiar number and waited for that effortlessly smooth voice to pick up.

"Hey, it's me." She tried not to let her bad mood permeate into her voice. He would figure that out for himself soon enough. "So, I got some time off work tonight. You want to go out ... somewhere?"

* * *

><p>Stifling a yawn with one hand, Warrick tossed the folder onto the bench in front of his boss.<p>

"So, Archie and I reviewed the CCTV footage from The Rampart. The kid left the holding room at approximately 3am – just as Sam said – and is seen on a camera outside the Casino a little after 3:20."

"It doesn't mean Sam didn't kill him." Grissom pointed out calmly, nudging the folder away without bothering to check the results for himself. Warrick frowned, surprised by this blatant show of prejudice from the normally unbiased scientist.

"Yeah, but I don't see why he would." The dark-skinned CSI countered, dropping onto a stool. "I mean, he already got his money back – why go after the kid and murder him, and then dump him in the neon graveyard under _his own_ sign?"

"Maybe he wanted to send a message?" It was a flimsy argument, especially by his standards, but it was all he had to cling on to right now.

"What kind of message? Don't get me wrong, I don't like Sam; but I don't think he's stupid enough to leave us a breadcrumb trail back to his own casino."

Patience beginning to wane at his subordinate's incessant reasoning, Gil pushed himself away from the bench.

"Just stay on Sam, for me?" He almost begged, shuffling hurriedly out of the room; ignoring the newly arrived, and rather bemused, detective. Warrick threw his hands out in bewilderment.

"Man, he's really gunning for Sam tonight."

"You ever have a case get away from you that you just can't forget about?" Brass asked rhetorically, sauntering into the lab. "Gil has a lot of unresolved issues when it comes to Sam."

"Well, be that as it may, I think he might be wrong this time."

Jim's lips spread into a thin smirk and he patted the CSI on the shoulder.

"I'll let you be the one to tell him that."

* * *

><p>The despondent sighing from the corner of the room was hard to ignore, rivalling even Sara Sidle's powers of concentration. Shaking off her own deep thoughts and glancing across the locker room, she found herself staring at Nick's slumped shoulders.<p>

"Everything okay?"

Without turning to face her, Nick waved the piece of paper he had been repeatedly reading.

"This is about the key CSI position. Grissom recommended me."

Sara felt her heart sink at the words, forgetting for a moment the sad tinge to Nick's voice. Clamping down on her disappointment, she swallowed hard and plastered what she hoped was a supportive smile on her face.

"Congratulations."

"It's not necessary." He exhaled, folding the letter up and slipping it back into the envelope. "Position was cut. Budget had room for the new promotion or a new qiagen, bio robot ez-1. Greg will be thrilled."

Sara nodded absently, barely even hearing the second half of his sentence.

"Yeah."

Slamming his locker shut and turning briefly towards his colleague, he flashed an almost cocky smile.

"Oh well, it's just an honour to be nominated, right?"

His parting comment went unanswered. Alone in the dim room, Sara sank onto the bench and clawed a hand through her silky waves.

Did she feel that Nick deserved the recommendation? Sure.

Did that ease the sting of being passed over for it? Not even a little.

* * *

><p>"So, you just got the night off? Just ... just like that?"<p>

Cath whirled towards him with narrowed eyes.

"Are you complaining?"

"No." He corrected quickly. "You just seem a little pissed off about it. I like it."

Chris' almost-embarrassed confession drew a smile from the woman and she gripped his arm tighter.

"You like that?" She enquired, nodding to a piece of artwork in a nearby window.

"Depends on what you're going to do with it." He scrunched up his nose. "Pretty expensive taste for a public servant."

"She can afford it."

Catherine and Chris turned in unison, startled by the voice. Cath's face fell with despair, immediately glancing around on the off-chance that somebody from work was watching.

"You going to introduce him?" Sam pressed when she didn't speak. Fortunately for Catherine, no introductions were necessary. Chris bounded forwards, thrusting his hand eagerly into Sam's palm.

"Mr Braun. Chris Bezich. It's a pleasure to meet you." He gushed. "Your hosts, they – they send a lot of your whales to my club, Acid Drop."

"That's great." Sam mumbled, his attention entirely fixed on his daughter's stony expression. Catherine nudged Chris lightly in the ribs, encouraging him to let go of her father.

"Uh, just give us a minute." She requested, tugging Sam out of earshot. "What do you want?"

"Mugs, I heard you had some time off because of me?" The genuine concern in his voice made her stomach turn and she folded her arms defensively.

"I could get fired for even having this conversation." She spat.

"Relax. Vegas is a small town. I'm always running into people I know."

"Just cut to the chase, Sam." Cath sighed impatiently.

"Some people in this town think I'm a murderer."

"Some people in this town _know_ you're a murderer." She countered.

Sam lunged forwards and placed a firm hand on her shoulder, squeezing tightly; something which did not go unnoticed by Chris, lurking a few feet away.

"I did not kill those kids." He insisted. "I did not!"

"Kids?" Catherine interrupted. "How do you know there's more than one?"

Unfortunately she never got her answer, as Chris materialised at her side with a look of protective concern on his face.

"I'm fine." She insisted through gritted teeth, whirling away from her boyfriend.

Without removing his hand, Sam cast a weary glace at the smaller man.

"You're not impressing her." He muttered. "Mugs, I'll be in touch."

They watched him slope back to his car, where a sharp-suited driver was already waiting with the door held open for him. The stretch limo was too long to perform an easy turn in the road and the chauffeur had to make several small manoeuvres before the vehicle – complete with wider tyres to support the excess weight – finally rolled effortlessly back to the glittering strip and the sanctity of Sam's fortress-like office.

"So, you and Sam Braun..." Chris pushed curiously.

"He slept with my mother."

* * *

><p>She didn't know how he did it, but something about Sam made her feel like a sulky teenage girl. And it was even more annoying that he had been right about Chris; his show of masculine protectiveness didn't impress her.<p>

There was only one man in the world who could get deeper under her skin than Sam Braun, and that man was currently attempting to dial a phone with his toes.

"What are you doing?" She dared to ask, peering over the desk at his shenanigans.

"I'm testing my podiatric dexterity." He explained in his typically casual manner. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Uh, you know those tracks that we found at the neon graveyard?"

Grissom finally stopped monkeying with the phone and flicked his stern blue gaze up to meet hers.

"The ones from the case you're not working on?"

"Yeah, those." She agreed, unfazed. "Sam used to be a caddy man. He would drive a new one every year. These days, he's being driven."

"And you know this because..?"

Resisting the urge to point out that Sam was her father and she was perfectly entitled to keep up to date with his modes of transport; she sucked in a breath, before offering a calmer response.

"I saw him. He came to me."

"And you walked away, I hope." Gil raised an eyebrow, sinking into the leather seat behind his desk.

"I made him walk away from me. Right into a stretch limo with a big turning radius."

"That doesn't prove anything. Besides, any evidence that comes from you is tainted."

Catherine visibly flinched at the word. Sam was a bad person, but he wasn't a poison.

"Then have it come from you." She held Grissom's gaze, ensuring her message was well received. "Warrant shouldn't be hard to get, especially if the call comes from someone whose character is above reproach."


	2. Chapter 2

**Slightly shorter chapter, just while I set the scene. Next one will be up tomorrow. Thank you to all those who have read and reviewed so far. And for those who are wondering, this will be a relationship story. **

**I don't suppose I need to tell you who it'll be between ;)  
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><p>"Please?"<p>

Catherine dropped her shoulders, feeling the last ounce of strength seep out of her.

"I'm sorry Lindsey, you just can't see Sam right now."

The child stuck her bottom lip out petulantly, folding her arms across her chest.

"Why?"

"Because."

A question hung between them, but for once Lindsey didn't push it. Her mother was always in a bad mood – that was nothing knew – but lately she had become despondent whenever Sam's name was mentioned.

It was frustrating and upsetting all at once for the little girl. Spinning on her heel with a discouraged huff, she stomped back to her bedroom without demanding an answer.

Catherine waited until she heard the telltale slam of the bedroom door before she let herself sink onto the couch; dropping her head into her hands.

She was frustrated, but that wasn't any reason to take it out on Lindsey. Ordinarily, when she felt like this, she would call her latest male friend for a release; but to be honest Chris was not the top of her friends list right now. In fact, after his little show of dominance with Sam, he was one of the people she was pissed off with.

Unfortunately, that left her at a loss of what to do with herself tonight.

* * *

><p>"Nick said the budget for the promotion was cut."<p>

The statement came from nowhere and was met with nothing in return.

"240 inches. 20 Feet."

Offering Gil the same treatment as he was showing her, Sara ignored his statement and continued.

"He also said you recommended him."

She let go of the tape measure, watching it slide across the floor and snap back into the case in Grissom's hand. After an agonizing moment, he finally met her gaze.

"I did."

Their wordless staring contest ended when she stood up and moved to check the back seat of the limo. After a minute's deliberation, Grissom joined her.

"You said you didn't have a problem with me." She pressed.

"I don't."

Realising that these clipped responses were the most she was going to get, she rolled her eyes. Grissom caught sight of the action and felt a small pang of guilt in his chest.

"I thought that Nick was the best candidate for the position."

"Why?" She tried to keep the judgement out of her voice as she pushed for a proper response. It wasn't Nick she was upset at, after all; even if the Texan hadn't been that graceful about winning.

Grissom considered the question for a few seconds; or fabricated an answer off the top of his head – she couldn't be sure.

"Because he didn't care whether he got the job or not."

Sara put down her torch and lifted her head, a frown playing on her face.

"That's a stupid reason." She pointed out.

It was also a lie, but neither was willing to acknowledge that out loud.

* * *

><p>Grissom was still puzzling over the limo, blissfully alone, when Warrick sauntered into the garage with a manila folder in hand.<p>

"You still liking Braun for these murders?"

Gil's head popped out from the car with a cocked eyebrow.

"Yeah, why? Something change?"

Warrick perched on the edge of a stool, gesticulating towards his boss with the file.

"I'm thinking Seth Landers and his pals had a woody for him. I went back to The Rampart and I took some electronic noise measurements. The place is a mess of interference – electronics in old casinos aren't shielded."

Emerging fully, if somewhat awkwardly, from the car, Grissom swiped a hand across his forehead.

"So, you're saying the shoe computers would've worked better in one of the new casinos on the strip?"

"Definitely." Warrick frowned. "A kid as smart as Seth wouldn't make a mistake like that."

"Then it was personal." Grissom nodded slowly, a new theory beginning to write itself in his mind. "Maybe personal?"

* * *

><p>Their hushed conversation ended abruptly with the ungainly arrival of Catherine into the DNA lab.<p>

"Where are my results?" She demanded of the young tech, blatantly ignoring Sara's presence in the room.

Greg straightened up, a little perturbed at the rude entrance. Sara, sensing that now was not a good time to be in Catherine's way, politely made her excuses and slipped quickly into the hall.

"Well?" Cath pressed impatiently. Greg retrieved a piece of paper from the printer and offered it mutely to the irate woman.

"Sara was just telling me about the promotion that her and Nick were going for." He explained, dragging the toe of his converse morosely across the tiled floor. "The position got cut."

"Hmm." Cath hummed disinterestedly.

"Grissom recommended Nick for it. She's kinda upset. I mean, she's pleased for Nick but she's disappointed." He began to ramble, feeling the need to fill in the silence. "It does suck though. Get cheated on and lose a promotion in the same week, and we all know why he gave Nick the recommendation..."

"Listen Greg," Cath cut him off with a raised hand, thrusting the results back to him. "I don't really have time for this. What does that mean?"

"Fine." He agreed curtly, snatching the paper back and pretending to iron out the creases. "Your trace was Pig Botulism. Botox. Your vic may have had some work done recently, by a pretty sloppy doctor."

Choosing to ignore the unusually downtrodden response from the friendly lab rat, Catherine grabbed her paperwork back and stalked out of the lab without offering any thanks.

Greg watched her strop off, a streak of insult flashing briefly across his face before his gaze drifted into the almost-empty room opposite.

It was in darkness, but he could just barely make out a sad silhouette, sitting perfectly still on the bench and staring into her lap. He wanted to go over and give her a hug, but he knew her well enough to realise that that would be a mistake.

So instead he just watched, quietly and protectively, from a safe distance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 5 is where the action really picks up, so will try and get 4 up as soon as possible. **

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><p>Greg's eyes narrowed, studying the entomologist carefully. He hadn't uttered a word since Greg had offered his findings, but his stony expression spoke volumes.<p>

When Grissom glanced up and realised that he was being scrutinised, he flinched defensively.

"What?"

"Well, that means Sam's innocent. This time." Greg pointed out, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Are you disappointed?"

Grissom turned his attention back to the piece of paper, needing to read it one more time to be sure. Finally, with an unusually disheartened sigh, he handed it back to the DNA tech.

"It's the evidence."

Greg watched him leave, feeling a little disappointed himself. Not for failing to give his boss the answers he wanted, but because his 'impartial' boss had wanted a certain answer in the first place.

* * *

><p>Pissed off as she was with the rest of the world, Catherine was not so self-absorbed that she hadn't noticed her colleague checking her cell-phone every few minutes.<p>

"Waiting for him to call?" She enquired coolly.

Sara flicked her head up sharply, her hand still poised over the device.

"Who?"

Catherine shot the younger woman a knowing smile. Granted, they weren't close; but that wouldn't stop her from imparting a little advice to her more naive colleague.

"Look, take it from someone's who's been there," she offered, gesturing to the phone. "If this is what he's doing to you, then he's not worth it."

Sara emitted a soft laugh, rolling her eyes skyward.

"Greg." She realised aloud. Who else could it be? He was the only person who'd known she was in a relationship, let alone that it had hit the rocks.

Catherine's grin spread, confirming her suspicions.

"Thank you for the advice," Sara said in a clipped tone. "But you're wrong."

"Hey, I'm not judging you." Cath insisted. "We've all been there. Hell, I've let enough men walk all over me..."

"Thanks, Cat." Sara interrupted, shoving her chair away from the table and standing up abruptly. "Come talk to me when you've been screwed over by a woman."

Catherine's jaw fell open, her eyes turning to saucers; and all she could do was watch mutely as Sara's departing frame disappeared from view as fast as her slender legs could carry her.

In the corridor, Greg spotted Sara stalking past his lab and dived into her path.

"Hey, you alright?" He asked, concern flooding his features at the sight of tears starting to form in her hazel eyes.

Not trusting herself to speak, Sara waved a dismissive hand at him and kept walking, leaving him – like Catherine – to helplessly watch her walk away.

* * *

><p>"Pass the sugar?" Nick requested, holding out his hand. Warrick slid the bowl across the table to his mate, not even pausing to lift his eyes from his magazine. "Thanks. Hey, the Cowboys are playing the Saints this weekend. You want to come round to my place and sink some beers?"<p>

"Sure." Warrick agreed nonchalantly. "As long as you're buying."

Nick's amenable laugh was interrupted by the approaching sound of angry footsteps. Both men raised their gazes to the door, where Greg had appeared with an uncharacteristic grimace on his face.

"What's up, Greg?" Nick asked, taking a mouthful of his coffee. The young scientist didn't come to a stop until he was inches from Nick's seat, where he jabbed a finger into the Texan's shoulder.

"I thought you were supposed to be a gentleman!" He lambasted. "You couldn't just be gracious about getting the promotion, could you? You had to rub it in!"

"Excuse me?" Nick spluttered. "Has Sara said something to you?"

"She didn't need to; it's written all over her face!" Greg barked indignantly, placing his gloved hands on his hips. "If you weren't so self-absorbed, that might have gotten through your thick head!"

"Hey, Greg man, calm down..." Warrick attempted to intervene.

"Why should I?" Greg demanded. "Pull your head out of your ass and grow up, Nick. Other people have feelings, too!"

Without giving the shell-shocked CSI a chance to defend himself, Greg stormed back towards his lab and even made a point of slamming the door shut on his way.

Nick turned to Warrick with his arms outstretched, stunned.

"What the hell was that about?"

Warrick chuckled, returning to his magazine.

"You know he has a thing for her. He's probably just trying to defend her honour." He theorised with a shrug. "Don't sweat it."

"Yeah, well Sara can fight her own battles in future." Nick muttered.

"Don't man." Warrick warned. "You don't know she put him up to that. Just leave it."

But it was too late, as Nick was already on his feet and heading in the same direction that Greg had just vanished.

"Nick!" Warrick bellowed, receiving little more than a raised hand for his troubles.

* * *

><p>"Mom ... yes, I know I'm late ... mom, just listen to me ..." Catherine groaned, dragging a hand over her face. "Yes, alright. I'll be home soon ... okay, just tell Lindsey I'm on my way back. Bye."<p>

It did not escape her notice that that conversation probably mirrored a thousand others they'd had recently. Something would happen with Lindsey, Lily would phone, Catherine would tell her that she was busy but ultimately be guilted into going home anyway.

"_You can't keep burying your head in the sand, Cathy."_ Lily had said. _"Your daughter is struggling. She needs you." _

Was that true? Perhaps. Maybe Cath didn't want to acknowledge what Lily implied – that her little girl was struggling to cope and she was ignoring the problem. But it wasn't because she didn't care about Lindsey, far from it.

Catherine was struggling too; and if she couldn't take care of herself, how on earth was she supposed to take care of an emotionally traumatised eleven-year-old.

Maybe Lindsey was better off being raised by Lily right now.

Her depressed musings were shattered when Sara shuffled in to the locker room.

"Hey." The brunette greeted in a subdued tone, keeping her gaze low. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm great." She lied sarcastically.

Sara opened her locker, but kept one eye on her despondent co-worker's hunched figure.

"Anything I can do?"

Catherine choked out a bitter laugh, her strawberry-blonde waves bouncing off her shoulders.

"No, thanks. I don't need parenting advice from _you_, of all people." She muttered a little too harshly.

Sara recoiled, attempting to clamp down on the rush of indignant anger at the affront.

"Fine." She pursed her lips tightly. "I was only asking."

"Well don't." Cath hit back. "I'd say come back to me when you've got kids, but I guess that'll be never, right?"

Hurt by the flippant remark, Sara slammed her locker shut without retrieving what she needed. There were a hundred and one rebuttals on her the tip of her tongue, just waiting to be cast, but something made her swallow them down.

Catherine's words stung, but her demeanour was defensive and vulnerable; and Sara just couldn't bring herself to offer any home truths to her now.

So she left.

Outside the door, she almost collided with Nick, who barely caught her by the arm before she could disappear.

"Hey, what have you been saying to Greg about me?" He demanded, attempting to pull her back towards the room.

"Leave it out, Nick!" She snapped, wrenching her arm free from his strong grasp. "Not everything is about you."

After watching her storm off, Nick turned to Catherine with a perplexed expression.

"What is going on?" He demanded. "What's gotten into her?"

Mimicking Warrick's earlier reaction to Greg's outburst, Cath merely shrugged.

"Woman trouble."


	4. Chapter 4

**It's up! Not entirely perfect, but I wanted it up before the weekend. I have a friend coming to stay for a few days, but will try to get one more up over the weekend anyway. As always, thank you for reading and reviewing x  
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><p>"Ahem." Catherine coughed softly to get his attention. "You ready?"<p>

Grissom's head shot up from his desk, a confused haze dancing across his expression.

"For what?"

With an impatient eye-roll, Cath pushed herself off the doorframe and ambled towards the desk with her hands outstretched.

"Cases, assignments?" She gestured pointedly to the untouched pile of folders perched precariously on the edge of his cluttered desk.

Grissom took off his glasses sheepishly and rubbed his eyes.

"Sorry." He mumbled, checking his watch. "I guess I just got carried away."

"Right." Cath pursed her lips. "So, are you coming?"

Grissom paused, weighing up the question. Finally, plastering a blank expression on his face, he met her gaze over the desk.

"No."

The blunt delivery caught Catherine off guard and for a moment she just stared at him.

Recovering, she emitted a guttural growl and snatched up the top two folders. However, before she reached the door, she whirled back around to face him. His glasses were already perched back on the edge of his nose and he had resumed whatever he was working on before she entered.

"You know, I'm sorry if I was difficult the other day. But you can't avoid working with me forever." She snapped.

Gil peered at her over the rim of his specs, his expression completely unreadable in the gloomy shadows behind his desk; but he didn't say a word.

* * *

><p>"Alright." She huffed, dropping the folders on the bench. "Grissom's hibernating tonight, so I guess I'll do assignments. Nick, you and Sara have a 419 in the Palermo."<p>

"Great." Nick almost groaned, accepting the folder. He turned to wave it at Sara, who was lurking quietly by the coffee pot. "I'll meet you at the car in five."

If Catherine noticed the brooding tension between the younger team members, she ignored it, turning her attention instead to Warrick.

"You're with me: suspicious circs in Summerlin."

As the men filed out, leaving the woman alone, Cath decided to take the opportunity to clear the air. Collaring Sara by the sleeve, she spun the brunette around to face her. Sara jumped, startled by the unprecedented physical contact.

"Hey, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for yesterday." Cath began tentatively. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

"It's fine." Sara shrugged, keeping her eyes averted. "You're right, why would I know anything about raising kids?"

Shuffling her feet nervously, Cath tried to organise her thoughts on the spot. She had planned what she wanted to say earlier, but her brief altercation with Gil had thrown her all to pot.

"It's just ... I guess I was just surprised. I'm usually pretty good at reading people; but somehow I missed it with you. You're not the stereotypical..."

"Dyke?" Sara filled in for her when she trailed off. "Why, because I don't have short hair and a lip piercing?"

It was not said with malice, or with even a hint of emotion, but it made Catherine flinch none the less.

"I'm sorry..."

Sara rolled her eyes and, tugging her arm free from her colleague's grasp, she made to leave.

"I'll see you later, Cat."

Catherine dropped her shoulders, realising with a sad heart that – far from apologising – she had managed to make things worse.

Two colleagues, two attempts to apologise ... and she was 0 for 2.

It was going to be a long shift.

* * *

><p>Cath slipped off her orange goggles and released a sigh, causing the dust to swirl around her in a dizzy cloud.<p>

"Man, did I call the wrong case tonight." She bemoaned miserably.

"Well, if it helps, I doubt Sara and Nick are having a ball either." Warrick volunteered, standing up and dusting the mess off his jeans.

"Yeah?" Cath exhaled. "Why's that?"

"You mean you don't know?" Rick frowned. "They're not really on speaking terms, ever since Grissom recommended Nick for that promotion."

"Seriously?" Cath scrunched up her face. "I mean, know Sara's dedicated to her work, but I didn't think she'd be _that_ sullen about it."

"Oh, it's not Sara that's sulking." Warrick explained. "Greg had a go at Nick – on Sara's behalf – and Nick thinks she put him up to it."

Catherine laughed, wiping her hair out of her eyes and leaving a streak of dirt across her forehead in the process.

"Yeah, because Sara can't fight her own battles."

"That's what I told him." Warrick smiled knowingly. "But you know what Nick's like when he gets a bee in his bonnet about something."

"Yeah. And I sent them off to work together."

"Yeah," Warrick echoed. "Just a heads up: something tells me you won't be too popular tonight."

Shaking her head, Catherine tilted her eyes towards the ceiling.

"To be honest, Warrick, I'm not popular anywhere at the moment."

He arched an eyebrow over his emerald green orbs, silently encouraging her to elaborate.

"Oh, forget it." She sighed; gesturing to the blood-stained carpet they had been gradually unearthing beneath their dead hoarder's lifetime collection of junk. "Come on, help me roll this thing up and let's get back to the lab. I need a shower."

* * *

><p>"Hey Sara," Nick called down from the step ladder. "Hand me that Maglight, will you?"<p>

Sara darted up obediently to pass him the tool.

"Thanks." He nodded, watching her walk back to her evidence with a meagre shrug of acknowledgement. Since leaving the lab parking lot, he had yet to get more than ten words out of her, and all of those had been about the scene.

"You find anything up there?" She enquired at last, too busy scribbling something on a clip-board to spare him a glance.

"Maybe." He agreed, extracting a swap from his pocket. "Could be blood. Could be rust. Greg will be able to tell us for certain."

"Mm Hmm." She agreed absently, furtively sliding her cell phone out of her pocket to check it.

As he descended from the ladder, Nick took a deep breath and swallowed down a few ounces of his pride.

"Hey Sara," he started. "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry for how I acted yesterday. Greg said something, but I know that probably had nothing to do with you."

"No, it didn't." She agreed distractedly, hurriedly scanning the text message she had just received.

"You know, he really has it bad for you." The Texan continued with a cheeky smile, hoping to lighten the mood a little.

When Sara continued to frown at her phone, barely even aware that he was still talking, his patience started to wane. Yanking off his latex gloves with a harsh snap, he tossed them onto the bed.

"You know what," he threw his hands up dismissively. "Forget it. I'm going to look for Jim downstairs."

Alone, Sara sank onto the bed and cast her eyes skyward, ignoring the few tears of relief escaping and creeping down her cheeks.

"Thank God." She hiccupped breathlessly.

* * *

><p>Catherine shuffled into the kitchen, her slippers whispering across the linoleum, and clicked the coffee pot on. The memory of the dream was fading fast, but that song was still playing away in the back of her mind, like a cassette stuck on repeat.<p>

"_One, two ... Freddy's coming for you ..."_

The tips of her hair were damp, though whether it was from her earlier shower or fear-induced sweat, she decided she'd rather not know.

"Mom?" A hopeful little voice enquired, dragging her gratefully from her thoughts. Plastering the most calm smile she could muster on her face, Catherine turned to face her daughter.

"What's wrong, Linds?"

"Nothing." The child shrugged, leaning sweetly against her mother's hip and gazing up at her with baby-blue eyes. "It's just that, Sophie's parents are going away next weekend and her sister's looking after her and her parents have said she can have some friends over for a sleepover and ..."

"No." Catherine extracted herself from the tiny arms around her waist and whirled back around to pour herself a much-needed cup of coffee.

"But mom ..."

"No, Lindsey." Catherine repeated firmly. "You cannot go to a sleepover where there are no adults present."

"But Casey's going to be in charge."

"Oh yeah," Cath rolled her eyes. "And what a responsible babysitter she is."

Lindsey's little face – a moment ago the picture of innocence – screwed itself into a snarl and she stomped her way back to the kitchen door, where she offered the three most hurtful words a parent can hear.

"_I hate you!" _

Hurling herself into the nearest chair with her drink, Catherine stared down into the murky black liquid and sighed dejectedly.

"Join the club, kid."


	5. Chapter 5

**Apologies for the delay, guys. I had to attend a funeral this week and, well, you know how it goes. **

**Anyway, here we are! Things will start to get interesting now **

* * *

><p>"Okay guys," Grissom snapped, cutting the silent tension in the room with all the diplomacy of a baton. "419 at a house in Desert Hills. All hands on deck tonight."<p>

"Desert Hills?" Nick screwed up his face. "Who the hell lives way out there?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Gil checked the paperwork anyway.

"Apparently a Mrs Sophie Jones. 49-year-old widow, lived alone. Suspicious circs."

"If it's a single body, why do we all have to go?" Catherine asked around a mouthful of apple, not even bothering to spare her boss a glance from her book. Grissom rolled his eyes impatiently.

"I don't know, Catherine." He growled. "I'm just going off what I've been told from the attending officers."

"Okay, so how are we going to do this? Two cars?" Warrick asked, attempting to diffuse the brewing argument.

Jumping on the opportunity to avoid further conflict, Grissom shoved a hurriedly-scrawled list of directions into the CSI's hand.

"Why don't you take the girls. Nick, you and Greg can come with me."

"Greg?" Nick flinched. "Why's he coming?"

"He wants to learn and it sounds like we'll need all the help we can get." Grissom shrugged, checking his watch. "Brass is meeting us there. I want you all at the cars in five minutes."

Scampering out of the room before anyone could offer dissent, he left a mix of intrigue and dread in his wake. Intrigue at the cryptic first details of what could prove to be a high-profile case.

And dread at the prospect of the two-hour drive to get there.

Nick was the first to move, slamming his hand on the counter and snatching up his cell phone.

"Great." He hissed, stomping out in a huff to gather his things.

Catherine, too, heaved herself to her feet with a reluctant groan.

"Well, I guess we may as well get this over with. I'll grab the kits."

Sara hadn't said a word, but she shot Warrick a despondent look across the room, before sloping out after her colleagues.

Left alone, Warrick pursed his lips and rolled his green eyes towards the ceiling.

"Well." He sighed to himself. "This is going to be a _fun_ road trip."

* * *

><p>Grissom thought he had been smart in his organisation of the cars. He had purposefully selected the two boys to remove any likelihood of him being stuck in a car with either of the women. And he had put Warrick with the girls because ... well, he couldn't put Nick and Sara together just yet and Greg wouldn't stand a chance at keeping the females from sniping at each other.<p>

Considering the volume Warrick kept his car radio at, they would either have to argue in sign language, or play nice for the evening.

Unfortunately, he had not bargained on Nick and Greg being embroiled in their own dispute. By the time they reached the remote house, even he was starting to miss the idle small talk that usually filled these long journeys.

Even Greg had given up trying to lighten the mood.

Even in the safe confines of the car, they felt the cold remoteness of their location seep into their bones. The rain had been lashing down so hard on the windscreen, their view had been little more than dark clouds and a rapidly flooding desert for the last fifteen miles.

Swinging into a space near the foot of the path, Grissom and the guys braced themselves before emerging like panthers from the car and sprinting to the shelter of the house.

Warrick and the girls were already there, huddling just inside the front door waiting for them.

"Man." Warrick whistled once they were all safely inside with the door closed to the wilderness outside. "Where the hell are we?"

"In wonderland?" A voice suggested from the depths of the dark hallway. Casting a torch into the shadows, Nick located Jim heading towards them with his hands outstretched. Heaven only knew how long he had been stood there, watching them all drip-dry in the entranceway, before announcing his presence.

"What have we got?" Catherine enquired, squinting up the impressive staircase, into the blackness above.

"A mystery." Jim answered enigmatically; checking his notes, even though his sharp memory meant he already knew the information off by heart. "The victim is 49-year-old Sophie Jones. She inherited this house after her mother died eight years ago; lived alone."

"So, where's the mystery?" Nick pressed, blowing into his hands to fend off the chill inside the house. Something told him that Ms Jones did not believe in central heating.

"Police responded to a 911 call of her screaming for help. Found her beaten to death ... in bed."

"So?" Catherine pressed.

"The phone was on the other side of the room, on the hook, and there is nothing to suggest she got out of bed." Brass quirked an eyebrow, meeting each of their increasingly puzzled gazes in turn. "No sign of forced entry and no evidence of anyone else in the house."

While he was filling them in, Sara had ambled to the window and was peering pensively through the filthy glass, watching the wind and the rain decimate the row of overgrown hedges lining the extensive property.

"This place is in the middle of nowhere. Did the vic have a car?" She asked.

"Yeah, a battered green chevvy, still parked in the garage. I don't think that car has left here for quite a while."

"So, if her car hasn't been out, we can assume her killer brought their own?" Cath picked up Sara's train of thought. "Unfortunately, I think it's safe to say any treads will be washed away by now."

"Let's not hypothesise yet." Grissom frowned. "The coroner's on his way. In the meantime, why don't we split up. Cath, you and Nick can take the body. Sara, you take the rest of the first floor – Greg can take notes. Warrick and I will start downstairs."

One by one they set off, crime scene kits in hand, in their respective directions. A flash of lightening outside startled them and the hallway was illuminated – all its secrets revealed to the world for the briefest of seconds – before the comfortable mask of darkness concealed them in the shadows once again.

"Urgh." Warrick shivered, hunching his shoulders protectively. "This place gives me the creeps."

* * *

><p>"Damn!" Nick spluttered, expurgating a cloud of dust from his lungs. The box that had just disintegrated in his hands fell to the ground, leaving the ancient paperwork it had held to flutter around his feet like brittle feathers.<p>

"You okay?" Cath asked absently, not tearing her eyes from the body. Odd as her lifestyle may have been, this poor woman did not deserve the fate that had befallen her. Her malnourished body was twisted into a writhing coil, her face locked in a permanent expression of agony.

And yet, as Brass had pointed out, she was still in bed; several feet from the phone – which, like everything else in the house, was coated in a thick layer of undisturbed dust. The woman was covered in blood, but there was not a speck anywhere else in the room except for the immediate vicinity of the bed.

So, how on earth had she phoned the police without getting up?

Her internal musings, and Nick's breathless response to her question, were cut short by a holler from downstairs.

Joining Sara and Greg on the landing, the four of them shuffled with trepidation down the old staircase and convened with the rest of the team in the entranceway. Grissom was poised, phone still clutched in his hand.

"I just spoke with Robbins. He's stuck en route – the rain's coming down too heavy and the road's flooded." The supervisor explained tightly. "And if he can't get through, then ..."

"We can't leave." Catherine finished morosely. "Great."

"So, what are we supposed to do?" Nick asked, tearing off his gloves. "Just sit here and wait for it to stop raining?"

"We keep working." Gil decided after a moment's consideration. "We still have a lot of ground to cover; we may as well make the most of this situation."

The prospect of being stuck her indefinitely was not one that appealed to any of them, but they couldn't argue with his logic.

"Well." Warrick cleared his throat, breaking the silence that befell them after another ominous thunder clap ricocheted through the house. Placing a hand on Sara's back, he gently encouraged her back upstairs. "Shall we?"

Reluctantly filtering back to their allocated rooms, the whole team felt their moods sinking with the realisation that they could be in for a long night.

Greg, lurking at the back of the group, moved to follow Sara; but something at the end of the hallway caught his eye and he stilled.

As his eyes quickly adjusted to the dimness, he blinked in surprise at what he thought he saw.

It was probably just the shadows and the storm playing tricks on him, he told himself. It couldn't be anything else. But despite every scientific bone in his body telling him it was just his imagination, he couldn't shake the haunting image from his mind.

And he could have sworn that she had smiled at him.


	6. Chapter 6

The ancient three-story building shook with every gust of violent wind, the paint practically crumbling off the trembling walls.

Sara's gaze was so lost in the rain beating down on the blackened windows; she barely reacted as Catherine dropped onto the seat beside her with a disgruntled huff.

"Well, this sucks." The strawberry-blonde sulked. "How long did Robbins say he'd be?"

"He didn't know." Warrick moped, drawing idle patterns in the dust with his index finger. "Grissom's still trying to reach him, but they don't get a great reception way out here. I'm not holding out much hope."

Greg scampered back into the room with his hands cupped protectively against his chest and a goofy grin playing on his lips.

"How many d'you get this time?" Sara asked absently, finally tearing her attention from the fierce weather outside.

"Twelve." He beamed, dropping to his knees and carefully adding his new finds to the thimble-tower he was assembling on the mantelpiece.

Apparently the late Mrs Jones – or her mother – had been quite the collector and Greg had been amusing himself for the past forty minutes gathering together as many as he could find in the cluttered house.

"Dude, give it a rest." Nick whined, throwing his head against the chair back and causing a string of dust to matt itself into his hair.

Greg rolled his eyes, but continued with his little pyramid unperturbed.

"Okay." Grissom sighed, shuffling back into the expansive living room with Brass on his heels. "I finally got through to Doc. He had to give up and head back to Vegas; he's going to try again in the morning."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Nick exploded, wiping a hand across his face. "We have to sit here all night with a rotting corpse? I mean, this is a sick joke, right?"

"Nicky..." Catherine warned, to no avail.

"Forget it!" The Texan growled, swinging out a leg in anger and raising Greg's delicately-constructed masterpiece to the ground in a clattering of tiny metallic clinks.

"Nick!" Greg wailed, trying desperately to catch some of the thimbles before they scattered across the dark-wood floorboards and disappeared into the gloomy nooks and crannies forever.

But the Texan CSI was already storming out of the room, casting angry, imposing shadows on the high walls as he vanished into the lightless hallway.

"I'll go after him." Brass offered, snatching up a torch.

For a moment, the room felt still and quiet with a mix of surprise and frustration at his childish outburst. Finally, Catherine heaved herself off the sunken couch to her feet.

"Well, we may as well carry on." She sighed. "I'll see if we can find some more candles."

"Yeah." Warrick agreed glumly, following suit.

Sara waited until they had left the room before rising to her feet herself and patting Greg lightly on the shoulder.

"Come on Greggo, you can help me search the office."

"I can help?" He enquired, perking up a little after his previous disappointment. Sara threw her hands out in a laissez-faire response.

"You may as well. You're not going to learn anything stacking thimbles and taking notes."

Abandoning his tiny treasures in a messy heap, he clambered to his feet and scampered out after her; snatching up his notepad on the way.

It may not be as trendy as a casino heist or a drug deal-gone-bad, but it was a proper crime scene - a murder, no less - and that was good enough for him.

* * *

><p>"This stinks." Nick coughed. "I don't even know why we all had to come here in the first place. It's a single homicide for crying out loud!"<p>

"Will you quit bellyaching for five minutes, please?" Warrick asked tersely.

"I'm not." Nick pouted.

"You are. And what the hell was that about with Greg?"

"Nothing."

Warrick rolled his eyes impatiently at the petulant responses.

"Fine, you don't have to talk to me." He huffed. "But you can get your grouchy butt over here and help me shift these."

Nick begrudgingly shuffled over and the two of them lifted out stack after stack of dusty folders from the deep wooden chest.

"Man, it is going to take days to go through all of this!" He complained, picking up one of the dilapidated files and feeling his heart sink as the corner crumbled in his hands.

"Yeah." Warrick agreed, patting him condescendingly on the shoulder. "Well, maybe you'd better shut up and get on with it then, huh?"

* * *

><p>"Hey," Grissom finally broke the silence, jerking his head in the direction of the hallway. "What's going on with them all?"<p>

"Oh, I don't know." Cath exhaled. "Sara's pissed with you for giving Nick the promotion. Nick's pissed with Greg for standing up for Sara about the promotion. And Warrick's pissed with Nick for not shutting up about the promotion."

His frown deepening with each additional name she rattled off, he quickly regretted asking the question and hurriedly resumed his work with a non-committal 'huh'.

"That's it?" She pressed, casting her torch over his face.

"What?" He shrugged, shying away from her piercing gaze.

"Well, are you going to tell me or not?"

"Tell you what?"

Tiring of this game of conversational cat and mouse, Cath picked her way delicately across the uneven floor towards him and placed her hands on her hips.

"Why you gave Nick the promotion instead of Sara?"

Grissom attempted to shrink into the shadows, but every time he stepped back she mimicked his movement with a step forward.

"What does it matter to you?" He scowled

"It doesn't." She acknowledged casually. "I'm just curious."

With the likelihood of getting a straight answer looking slim, she perched on the arm of a chair and crossed her arms stubbornly before continuing.

"You and I both know that Sara is the better CSI."

"Nick's earned it." Gil offered uncomfortably at last.

"I'm sure he has." Cath agreed. "But that's not why you recommended him over her."

In the heavy silence that followed, Gil lifted his silence slowly to meet her questioning stare; almost challenging her to say it out loud. And like a moth to a flame, she took the bait.

"You didn't want people to think you recommended Sara purely based on your ... _history_."

He visibly flinched at the word, turning away again.

"There's nothing in here. Let's move onto the lounge." He attempted to change the subject, cursing himself for not pairing off with Warrick instead.

"Fine, don't admit it." Cath shrugged with a satisfied little smile. "You know I'm right. And so does she."

Realising that he wasn't going to get out of this conversation so easy, he decided to try and switch the heat onto her for a change.

"Since when do you care about Sara so much?" He enquired. "I thought you'd be pleased I recommended Nick."

"This has nothing to do with Sara, or Nick." She insisted defensively. "I'm speaking for the rights of women in business everywhere. You promoted a male over a female, because you were worried about what other people would think."

"I ..." he started, but trailed off. She was right, of course, but he wasn't about to admit that to her.

"Everybody has a past, Gil." She added pointedly, spinning on her heel away from him. "Unfortunately, it seems that only women get punished for it."

She wasn't just talking about the promotion anymore, and he knew it. Throwing his hands out, he uttered a pathetic sigh.

"Catherine..."

"Don't." She held up a finger to silence him, her head cocked to one side. "Do you hear that?"

Listening beyond the eerie sound of silence ringing in his ears, he picked it up as well and a puzzled frown embedded itself in his brow.

"Music?" He whispered, following her careful footsteps back through the lounge and into the large dining room.

Nobody had been in here yet. In fact, it didn't look like anybody had been in here for several years.

Except somebody else must be in here; for in the corner of the room, illuminated by a single flickering candle, was a large grand piano – the source of the beautifully soft tune floating around them like ripples on the darkness.

They stepped slowly around the edge of the large space, both searching for a glimpse of the player.

They could see the ivory keys fall and rise in perfect rhythm, the rusty wires only enhancing the timeless quality of the song; and they could see the candle dancing in time with the musician's raspy breaths.

But the floor around the piano was undisturbed, the keys smeared with filth and untouched for years. And the ornamental wooden bench, laden with a decade of dust, was empty.


	7. Chapter 7

The three-story structure was battered and weather-beaten from the outside, but it was clear that this ramshackle property had once stood majestic and proud at the edge of the expanse of desert, nestled comfortably in the shade of the impressive Red Rock Mountains.

Doc groaned, stretching his muscles one at a time as he clambered stiffly out of the car.

"Wow." David whistled, tipping his baseball cap back to peer up at the house. "How much do you think a place like this would cost?"

"I don't know." The coroner grumbled, extracting his kit from the back of the van. "I don't care. I'm just glad it's stopped raining."

Stopped was a bit of a stretch; but the pathetic drizzle plaguing them now was nothing in comparison to the horrendous downpour they had been contending with last night. However, the sky was still grey and threatening, and Doc did not want to hang around any longer than necessary in case the heavens decided to open again.

The heavy oak front door creaked open and they were greeted by a most relieved Gil Grissom.

"Hey Doc." He sighed with gratitude, holding out his hands. "Glad you finally made it."

"This better be worth it." The Robbins scowled, hobbling carefully up the damp, rickety steps. "Do you have any idea how bad the radio music is at this time of day?"

* * *

><p>"Man, this woman didn't throw anything out." Warrick bemoaned, tossing the folder onto his 'read' heap and snatching up another. "She's worse than my grandmother."<p>

"Yeah." Nick moped. "It's going to take forever to go through all this sh..."

"Hey." Jim cut him off, sauntering into the room. "So, Robbins just left with the body. Gil and Catherine are working the bedroom now that they can see it properly. What are you guys up to?"

"Paperwork." Warrick rolled his eyes, shooting the detective a hopeful look. "You want to help?"

"You know what," Jim shrugged unsympathetically. "I forgot my gloves. But you guys carry on."

"Hey," Nick straightened up and placed his hands on his hips. "Where are Sara and Greg at?"

"I think they're upstairs."

Nick nodded, pursing his lips, and shot his colleague a meaningful look. Sara and Greg were playing in the bedrooms while they were trapped under an avalanche of dusty files...

With a sigh, Warrick heaved himself to his feet.

"I'll go find them. We could use an extra pair of hands – or two."

As the taller man left, Brass caught sight of Nick muttering something under his breath and brandished a warning finger at him.

"Be nice, Nicky."

* * *

><p>She cast her torch over the old toys, feeling her heart rate increasing against her will. Grissom and Catherine were just down the hall; but in here it was so very quiet, she could almost believe that she was the only person in the house.<p>

"Hey,"

The low voice startled her and she jumped, spinning towards the door. Warrick held up his hands apologetically, squinting against the bright beam of light suddenly being aimed at his face.

"Sorry." He shrugged, ducking through the door into the room. "You find anything in here?"

Recovering from her shock, Sara gesticulated to the small space. It had obviously been a child's room once upon a time, and it clearly hadn't been decorated since the child was living in here.

"Well, it's a bit weird actually." She frowned. "Most of this house is untouched; and yet check out the dust."

Throwing his gaze around the room, Warrick matched her bemused expression.

"There isn't much." He noted, dragging a gloved finger across the chest of drawers and examining it curiously. "Someone's been spending a lot of time in here."

"Maybe." Sara continued. "But when I tried to come in, the door was stuck; as if it hadn't been opened in years."

"So, what are you saying?" He pressed. Sara chewed on the inside of her cheek in thought, shaking her head slowly.

"I don't know." She admitted. "Something's off about this case."

* * *

><p>The floorboards creaked louder with each step he took, his own shadow dancing in front of him like a deceptive imp.<p>

A noise behind him caught his attention and he whirled around quickly, but there was nobody there.

Turning back down the endless corridor; he felt all the colour drain from his body and his stomach fell into his shoes.

Where a moment ago there had been nothing but darkness; now two eyes peered back at him, grey and opaque and set into a white, decomposing face.

Greg stumbled, scrambling furiously to get away but equally unable to tear his eyes from the ghostly apparition. Silently, she seemed to float towards him.

Finally finding his footing, he launched himself at the stairs and hurled himself down them with little elegance. On his descent, he continued to cast fearful glances over his shoulder in case she was following him, and as such did not see what he was running into.

Or rather, who he was running into.

* * *

><p>Nick almost fell over when Greg barrelled down the stairs into him. He barely caught the startled young man, steadying himself on the sturdy banister.<p>

"Greg, Greg man? What's wrong?" He asked, trying to catch the panicked lab rat's darting eyes.

"There's a woman!" The tech babbled frantically. "Upstairs, there was a woman!"

Grissom and Catherine emerged from the master bedroom, scanning the scene with perplexity.

"What's going on?" Cath asked, gesturing to the petrified young man clutching desperately at Nick's shirt collar.

"She was up there! She was coming towards me!" He continued to yelp desperately.

"Where?" Gil peered into the dim hallway; but all he could see was thick, unchanging blackness.

"At the end of the hall." Greg was practically shaking as he spoke, his face suddenly an unnatural shade of white.

"Alright, I think we should..."

"Guys!" A panicked voice hollered from the other end of the corridor, cutting off whatever the supervisor was about to say. "Guys, help!"

"Warrick." Nick mumbled, grabbing his weapon from its holster as he started upstairs, followed by a reluctant and still trembling Greg.

* * *

><p>He shifted her weight, trying desperately not to drop her as he waited impatiently for his colleague to arrive.<p>

"Guys, in here!" He practically pleaded. Nick was the first to enter, nudging the door open and aiming his weapon suspiciously into the room.

It looked like a small earthquake had hit it, with old toys and photo frames scattered haphazardly across the floor; but that was not what caught their attention.

Warrick was stood in the middle of the room, green eyes wide and startled, with Sara collapsed into his arms. He held her cradled against his chest, limp and pale.

Catherine emerged from the back of the group and moved hurriedly towards them, tentatively pressing her hand to Sara's forehead.

"She's stone cold." She whispered. "Sara, honey?"

"What happened?" Grissom breathed, watching Catherine's attempts to rouse the brunette with grave concern.

"The rocking chair… it was going crazy." Warrick stuttered, sheer confusion evident in his voice. "Sara, she … she saw something. And then she just went white and collapsed."

"What did she see?" Greg asked eagerly, wondering if his black-clothed vision had haunted his friend too.

"I don't know." Warrick shrugged, trying not to lose his grip on Sara's body as Cath continued her desperate attempts to wake her. "She didn't say."

After what felt like an age, haunted dark eyes blinked open and gradually acclimatised to the dim surroundings.

"Hey, it's okay." Cath reassured her, as she and Warrick continued to support her weight.

"She killed herself." Sara mumbled, turning around to stare at the rocking chair. "I saw her."

"The victim?" Gil scowled.

"No, her mother." Sara shook her head, gesturing wildly towards the chair. "She stood on that and she ... she hanged herself."

The team shared a concerned look.

"You saw this?" Nick frowned sceptically. "I mean, you actually _saw_ her?"

"I saw her, too." Greg jumped to Sara's defence before the Texan could dismiss her claim.

Sara turned to him and the two shared a long moment, seeing the same fear-stricken gaze staring back at themselves.

Grissom broke the silence, reaching out to grip Sara's arm and tug her towards the door.

"Come on, we need to get back downstairs." He said , ushering the team out of the room. He would never admit it, but something had just sent a chill down his spine.

Sara shrugged him off and stepped out of his reach, but followed them out of the room all the same.

Catherine, more persistent than Gil, wrapped a firm arm around her slender waist and didn't remove it until they were safely downstairs and away from whatever ghoul had caused her terror-induced blackout.


	8. Chapter 8

**No ghouls in this one, I promise!**

* * *

><p>"Let me see if I've got this right." Jim furrowed his brow. "You saw the late Mrs Jones' mother hang herself from the ceiling beams ... I mean, you actually <em>saw<em> this?"

Sara nodded wordlessly, her eyes still wide and haunted.

"And you," the detective turned to Greg, sitting beside her in equal horror-stricken silence. "You saw the same woman walking towards you in the hall?"

"I assume it was the same woman." He shrugged meekly. "And she was more floating than walking."

Jim shook his head in bemusement, trying to wrap his mind around this startling development. He had stepped out of a crime scene for a few moments and he had walked back into a horror movie.

"Come off it." Nick scoffed, dragging a hand through his short hair. "Ghosts, really? This is what we're talking about?"

"Easy, Nick." Catherine warned, emerging from the kitchen to gently place a glass of water into Sara's trembling hands. The brunette was still deathly pale, only exacerbated by her almost-black orbs; and she had yet to say a word about her ordeal.

"Please don't tell me you're actually buying this shit?" The Texan continued in frustrated bafflement. "I mean, we are scientists..."

"Nick." Warrick snapped, gesturing for his colleagues to follow him to the far side of the airy lounge. Though safely out of earshot of the two spooked criminalists, he still lowered his voice.

After all, who knew what else could be listening in?

"Look, I know it sounds crazy – but I saw it too."

"You saw a woman fall from the ceiling?" Grissom raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"No, but I saw the rocking chair going nuts, and then all of a sudden it stopped and Sara blacked out."

Catherine turned to frown at the two shivering figures huddled together on the couch.

"They saw something." She noted with concern. "So, what do we do?"

"We carry on." Grissom stated without hesitation. "Whatever they_ think_ they saw, we still have a murder to solve. Sara and Greg can go back to the lab and work the case from there."

"No." Greg interrupted, unfurling himself from the blanket draped around their shoulders and standing up on shaky legs. "I want to stay."

His desperate plea was met with a long silence.

"I'm not making it up." He insisted. "And I want to stay."

Warrick looked from the young lab rat to Sara, still coiled on the sofa.

"You?"

She met Greg's eager gaze, mulling over the question; before finally offering an emotionless nod.

"Okay." Jim delved into his pocket and extracted his cell phone. "I'll call the Sheriff back and tell him you'll be here for a while longer."

"Good." Grissom nodded curtly. "Guys, where are we with the paperwork from the office?"

Nick and Warrick shared a reluctant scowl.

"Slow going." Nick confessed.

"Well, keep at it. Greg, you too." He instructed. "Sara..."

"She can help me." Catherine jumped in hurriedly, holding out a hand towards her co-worker. "We'll go back to the office."

As the team filtered off to their respective tasks, Sara picked herself up and sloped after the strawberry-blonde. Halfway out of the door, Greg caught her lightly by the arm.

"If it helps," he offered a tiny smile. "I believe you."

* * *

><p>Her motives for wanting to keep a close eye on Sara remained her own – not that the brunette appeared to be complaining about the over-protective company.<p>

Tensions were still high between the two women from their little spat at the lab; but regardless of what had happened in that bedroom, Sara did lose consciousness and that was worrying enough for her supervisor.

"You find anything?" She asked, picking her way across the floor to see what had Sara's attention so captivated right now.

Sara blinked, startled by Catherine's sudden presence at her side.

"I'm not sure." She shook her head. "Probably nothing."

Cath took the framed photo from her and squinted at the faded image.

"Looks like a summer camp." She noted, barely making out the two rows of children in their tiny shorts and matching t-shirts.

"Yeah." Sara agreed quietly, shaking off the peculiar feeling that had suddenly come over her.

Like she had said; it was probably nothing. Just like her vision in the bedroom.

* * *

><p>"Ghosts." Nick snorted. "I mean, really?"<p>

"Alright, we get it Nicky." Warrick insisted firmly. "Just give it a rest, will you?"

"So, what exactly are we looking for?" Greg changed the subject. "So far all I've found is a load of invoices and receipts for something called 'Lakeside Experiences', from about twenty years ago.

"We're looking for anything that will tell us what our vic has been doing for the last few years. Any jobs, associates ... anything that might point to a motive or a suspect."

"Yeah, well right now I'm not finding any motive." Nick huffed petulantly. "All I've found so far is decade's worth of junk and a few ancient old photos."

"Well, maybe if you do less griping and more searching, you might find something more useful."

Greg laughed at Warrick's absent shot, but quickly clamped his mouth shut when he saw the scowl etched into Nick's face.

"What the hell?" He exhaled, peering closely at the photograph in his hands.

"What is it?"

"It's me!"

Greg and Warrick moved around to look at the image. It was dusty and faded by time, but the picture – the same one Sara had found framed in the office – was just clear enough to make out.

"There," he pointed to a little dark-haired little boy on the front row with a wide, cheeky smile. "That's me!"

"Get out of here." Warrick scoffed. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm serious. My mom has a photo of me on the mantelpiece wearing that same outfit." He paused, studying the image closely. "In fact, it could even have been taken at this same place."

"Where is it taken?"

"Lakeside Summer Camp." Catherine interjected from the doorway, holding up the frame Sara had found.

"Lakeside?" Greg echoed. "Like the invoices?"

"Yeah. And that's not all we found."

His energy buoyed by the prospect of a new lead, he snatched the paperwork out of her hand and eagerly scrutinised it in the dim candle light. Once his eyes danced over the words, he slowly lowered the document and met Sara's dark state.

"You were right." He muttered. "She did kill herself."

* * *

><p>"So, this woman ... this Mrs Loretta Hargreaves..."<p>

"The victim's mother." Jim added for clarity.

"Right," Grissom continued. "She ran a summer camp in California in the 60s and 70s."

"Lakeside Experiences Summer Camp, on the outskirts of San Diego." Greg chipped in.

"Yeah, which apparently our boy here went to." Catherine nodded to a continually bemused Nick.

"But I don't remember it." He insisted. "I mean, I remember going to camp in Austin ... and once or twice in San Antonio, but ..."

"Well, if you're sure that picture is of you then we can assume you were there." Cath continued.

"What happened to the Camp?" Gil pressed, less than interested in Nick's childhood exploits for the time being.

"Well, that's the weird thing." Catherine pursed her lips. "It closed suddenly in 1979, with no apparent explanation. Loretta Hargreaves moved back here and apparently turned into a bit of a recluse before committing suicide in 1997."

"By hanging herself in the children's bedroom, using the rocking chair for leverage." Warrick stated, still a little disbelieving of the coincidence.

"Something must have happened to make her spend eighteen years in virtual isolation." Sara noted sadly.

The morose, and somewhat confused, atmosphere in the room was severed by a sharp crack. Nick shrugged unapologetically.

"I'm in." He stated, carefully picking the shards of broken glass off the frame and sliding the image out to examine it more closely.

But it wasn't the rows of children that caught Greg's attention.

"What's that?" He asked, gesturing to the back of the ragged square. Turning it over, Nick skimmed the delicate writing carefully daubed onto the back of the image ... then he read it again, to make sure he hadn't imagined it.

Twenty five years had decimated the ink, but not enough to stop it taking the breath from his lungs.

_Lakeside Camp, Summer 1979_

_Back row: Catherine Flynn, Warrick Brown, Michael Johnson, Ricky Wyatt, Gilbert Grissom_

_Front row: Lucas Wyatt, Nick Stokes, Sara Sidle, Eva Sanchez, Maria Donatello, Greg Sanders _


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm not entirely happy with this one, but I hope you guys enjoy it. **  
><strong>I hope you're all enjoying the holidays, however you celebrate them! :)<strong>

* * *

><p>There had been no mention of their little fall-out for days. Given recent developments, it seemed almost irrelevant now.<p>

So when Sara flinched at the gentle touch on her arm, Catherine couldn't help but feel a little disheartened.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Sara cleared her throat and straightened up in her seat, wrapping her arms across her chest in a protective manner; or possibly a defensive one. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just a headache."

Cath furrowed her brow, attempting to touch her forehead and frowning when the brunette ducked out of her reach.

"You ought to see a doctor. You did lose consciousness."

Sara shook her head.

"I'm fine. That was just ..."

She let the sentence hang. As a scientist, she simply didn't have an answer to offer; and as a human, she was too afraid to offer one anyway.

It was not that she had never allowed herself to believe in something beyond the tangible world; but to have irrevocable evidence of the afterlife forced upon her in such a horrific manner ... well, it was difficult to put into words.

Not to mention, she still didn't understand why this woman had chosen her to share her final moments with and she wasn't sure that she really wanted to know.

* * *

><p>They all started at the noise, but it was Nick who snatched up the trilling device.<p>

"Oh." He squeaked excitedly, fumbling to answer it. "Hey Doc!"

"_Nick."_ Robbins greeted. _"I understand you guys are still at the house, but I thought you'd want my preliminary findings as soon as possible."_

"Hold on," the Texan cut in, gesturing for the rest of the team to gather round. "I'll just put you on speaker."

"What have you got, Albert?" Grissom asked, straining to piece together Doc's response over the static interference.

"_A confounding mystery, if I'm honest." _The coroner admitted. _"Your victim died for internal bleeding caused by massive trauma."_

"Well, she did take quite a beating." Catherine frowned, not seeing the big surprise in this information.

"_Yes, but that's the strange thing."_ He continued. _"Her injuries are more consistent with a head-on collision than a beating."_

"Wait a minute; you're saying she was in a car accident?" Warrick paraphrased. "How the hell is that possible?"

"_I have no idea."_ They could practically hear Al shrugging helplessly on the other end of the phone. _"I'll let you know more after the final post."_

Hanging up, the team shared an incredulous look.

"So, our victim died from a car crash ... in her bed?"

"It's not possible." Grissom shook his head in bewilderment. "The blood evidence tells us that she died in bed and the cast off patterns suggests she was beaten."

"But enough to cause internal injuries mirroring that of a high-speed crash?" Catherine chipped in. "That just doesn't make any sense."

"You know what I still don't get?" Warrick sat forward and picked up the photograph of them all at the summer camp, tracing his finger over each tiny smiling face in turn. "Why do none of us remember this?"

Before any of them could pose an answer, if they had one to proffer in the first place, a cool wind whistled through the airy lounge and rattled the rickety wooden blinds hanging in front of the stained windows.

"Does anybody else get the feeling that we're not wanted here?" Greg asked, his chocolate brown eyes dancing around the room in search of something unseen.

None of them said it, but the bigger concern playing on their minds was that they were exactly where 'she' wanted them. And they would not be able to leave until they had seen everything she had to show them.

* * *

><p>They worked in silence, each too frightened to voice the thoughts bounding around their heads.<p>

The men all jumped with the slamming of the front door, exchanging brief glances of shared fear.

"Sara." Warrick exhaled, shaking away whatever irrational panic had suddenly overcome him. "Did you find anything outside?"

"No." She frowned, peeling off her latex gloves miserably. "I checked every window and door. None of them have been opened in years and there are no footwear marks or tyre tracks in sight."

"Well, we are in the middle of the desert." Nick pointed out, disguising a shiver by sinking his hands into his pockets. "It was a long shot."

"Yeah, but there are no signs that anybody has been outside this property for a long time. Other than to go out for food, I don't think the victim has been out of this building for years."

"So, how we still don't know how the killer got in." Warrick scowled.

"Maybe they were already in the house." Greg suggested, causing an uncomfortable look to pass between the others.

"You don't mean..."

"No." He corrected quickly. "I mean, we've been working on the assumption that the victim lived alone. What if we're wrong?"

The simplicity of the lab tech's idea stalled the rest of the team for a moment. Finally, Sara shrugged.

"Okay, I guess it could have been a domestic that turned violent. He beats her to death; and during the struggle the phone gets knocked off the hook?"

"Yeah, I'd buy that." Warrick hopped on board too. "Guy freaks out and leaves, hoping that we won't be able to trace him."

"Alright, hold up a second." Nick held up his hands. "This house is like a museum. You said it yourself, the victim was a recluse. Can you honestly imagine her shacked up here with a guy?"

It was a valid question, and one that none of them had an answer for. Lucky for them, they were all saved from responding by the chilling sound of a sharp scream; before the dim lights went out and plunged them into a thick darkness.

"Catherine..." Nick breathed, as the team fumbled their way clumsily into the next room. It was dark in there too, but in their blackness their heightened hearing could make out the sounds of laboured breathing and Grissom scrambling to clear the room in the pitch black.

Warrick cast his torch around the perimeter of the room, eventually locating the blonde. She had her back pressed against the wall and her face was frozen in a mask of terror. Her chest was heaving, her heart practically beating through her thin shirt.

When Grissom finally reached her, she clutched his arm desperately with both trembling hands. Skimming the room, her gaze latched instantly onto Sara's.

"She's in here." She whispered. There was no need to elaborate.

For once, Gil didn't raise his eyebrows in disbelief or scepticism.

"Alright guys," He instructed with an uncharacteristic tremor to his reasoned voice. "Load up the cars. We're leaving."


	10. Chapter 10

**Happy New Year everybody! I hope you all saw 2015 in with a drink and a kiss :)**

**I have been dying of flu for a week and saw it in with a headache and a bucket of painkillers, but I guess that's just life. Am on the mend now, but I can only apologise and blame the meds if this chapter doesn't make sense. **

**Either way, enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The relief of being safely back in the lab was only tainted by the undeniable sensation of working in a goldfish bowl.<p>

Word of their haunted exploits had evidently travelled fast and every trek through the glass-walled corridors came accompanied with a series of guffaws and jovial comments.

"I hope you didn't bring any ghosts back with you." Hodges snipped teasingly as Nick swaggered into his lab.

"You know what ..." The Texan started, before reigning in his bad mood and dropping his raised hand back to his side. "Why did you page me?"

With a twinkling grin, Hodges proudly handed him a piece of paper fresh from the printer.

"Your results on Mrs Havisham."

Biting back a sarcastic smirk at the joke, Nick snatched the document from him and scanned the chart of unlabelled peaks and troughs.

"Alright smartass, what is this?" He snapped at last, twitching at the smug grin playing on Hodges' face.

"That is carbon, sulphur and traces of cellulose. Together, it gives you..."

"Hold on; the vic had charcoal dust on her?" Nick cut him off.

"Charcoal dust _and_ cotton fibres." Hodges amended pointedly. "Was there a fireplace in the room?"

"No, there was one downstairs, but it didn't look like it had been lit for years."

"Hmm," The lab rat mused. "So, maybe your killer brought it in with them. Have any of your ghosts been playing in fires recently?"

"Funny." Nick smirked, brandishing a finger at the other man as he shuffled off to puzzle over the new information in peace. "Very funny."

* * *

><p>Sara started awake, the monster from her dream merging into the shape of a coffee mug, hovering inches from her face.<p>

"Oh." She squeaked, shuffling upright.

"You okay?" Catherine quirked an eyebrow, waiting for Sara to accept the drink before moving back to the kettle to pour herself a mug of the brown sludge.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sara lied, taking a sip of the steaming liquid to disguise the flush creeping up her cheeks. Cath knew her colleague well enough to know that she was not 'fine', regardless of what she said; but she was not here to discuss the intricacies of the brunette's tormented subconscious.

"I'm glad I found you." She noted, stirring her own drink pensively as she mulled over her next words. "I've been waiting to talk to you for a few days."

"What about?" Sara almost managed to sound interested, her mind still picking over the remnants of her nightmare and siphoning them away for analysis when she was alone.

"Well, I think it's time we talk about what happened the other day – about what you told me."

Sara rolled her eyes and mumbled something unintelligible beneath her breath. A part of her had been expecting this; but a bigger part had hoped that Catherine had forgotten all about her little admission.

Not one to give up that easily, Cath perched on the coffee table, essentially trapping Sara in her corner.

"I just wanted to explain my reaction." She continued as professionally as she could, her eyes dancing nervously above her co-worker's head. "I am not homophobic. I need to know that you know that."

There was an earnestness in her voice that Sara found hard to ignore, but she refused to drag her own gaze from the floor until she knew where this was going.

"I was just shocked, I guess. I can usually spot these things in people pretty quickly, but I missed it with you. It seems so obvious now."

Sara, mildly offended by the offhand remark, cocked an eyebrow.

"Right, okay." She shook her head. "Look, I've got a lot of work to do. Can I go now?"

"No." Cath held up her hands. "As a supervisor, I need to know that you feel like you can come to me about anything, without fear of being judged. You _do_ know that, right?"

The pause before Sara answered made Catherine's breath hitch and for a heart-stopping moment she thought that she had done irreparable damage in their working relationship.

Finally, Sara lifted her head and spoke; though her voice was empty.

"Yeah, I know. Now, can I go?"

Her shoulders dropping, Cath waved a hand dismissively.

"Yeah, you can go." She sighed sadly.

As Sara pushed herself off the couch and slipped past her, all of the words that Catherine had so carefully planned suddenly came flooding back; but it was too late to say them now.

She was already gone.

* * *

><p>Warrick had been pouring over the files relating to the camp for so long, his neck had seized up.<p>

"Damn it." He hissed, slamming another folder closed.

"That doesn't sound promising." Greg noted with dismay from the threshold.

"It's not." Warrick agreed. "I have searched through every scrap of paper here and I can't find anything relating to the camp in 1979."

"Well, this probably won't make you feel any better then." The DNA tech shuffled into the room timidly and proffered the file clasped in his hands. "I tracked down the other kids named on that photograph."

Warrick's attention peaked and he straightened up with eager green eyes.

"And?"

"Well, we have something in common with them apart from that camp photo."

Accepting the information and turning to the front page, Warrick quickly realised what he meant.

"Michael Johnson; Vice detective from New Orleans. Ricky and Lucas Wyatt, both cops from New York. Eva Sanchez, criminalist from Phoenix. Maria Donatello, CSI from LA." He lowered the document and met his companion's eye. "They're all in law enforcement."

"That's not all I found." Greg continued sombrely. "Every one of them died in the last six months."

Warrick's only overt reaction to the news was the slow rising of one eyebrow in surprise.

"You're kidding."

"No. I took the liberty of calling all the forces and requesting the death reports." He took his folder back and offered a meek shrug. "I'll let you know what I find."

Warrick watched him shuffle back out, shaking his head in loss.

Five members of law enforcement; all of whom attended a summer camp in 1979 and all of whom died this year.

Warrick Brown was not a man who believed in coincidences.

He also knew when he was beating a dead horse; and the files from the house were not getting him anywhere.

Pulling out his cell phone and tapping in a familiar number, he decided to try a less-than-scientific approach to get his answers.

"Hey grandma," he smiled at the warm voice on the end of the line. "Yeah, yeah everything's okay. Listen, I'm sorry to disturb you so early; but I have something to ask you..."

* * *

><p>The response to her knock was more of a grunt than a greeting, but Catherine entered anyway.<p>

With Sara proving less-than receptive to her attempts to apologise, she was not in the mood to pander to Grissom's bad tempter today.

"The guys are still working the case. Where are you at with tracing the vic's family?"

"I'm not." He sighed, tossing his book petulantly onto the stack already littering his desk. "So far, the only family I've found is the victim's husband – David Jones, deceased – and her father, Marvin Hargreaves, also deceased."

"And the mother, Loretta Hargreaves." Cath added pointedly. "But we all know what she's up to these days."

Grissom shot her a derisive look, clearly not willing to discuss the events of their time at the old house in the desert.

"What have the guys found?" He asked instead.

"Nothing much." She admitted, helping herself to the seat opposite his desk uninvited. "Hodges found charcoal on the body; Nick's trying to figure that one out. Warrick and Greg are looking into the summer camp."

Grissom visibly reacted to this news and sat upright.

"Is that connected to the case?"

"Probably not," she conceded. "But it's still weird."

"'Weird' isn't a criminal offence. Tell them to stay on the investigation at hand."

Catherine opened her mouth to contest the order; to tell him that she thought it was still worthy of investigation, or that she was not his assistant and he could tell them himself if that was his opinion.

However, she never got the chance to tell him either. Her sentiments were cut off by a blunt knock on the door, although the person behind it had evidently been stood long enough to hear their conversation.

"I wouldn't close that line of enquiries off just yet, if I were you." Doc noted, his footsteps punctuated as always by the gentle click of his cane.

"Have you finished the final post?" Cath asked hopefully, shooting Gil a sly look across the desk.

"Yes, and there's something that I think you both need to see."

The coroner delved into his pocket, extracting a small plastic pot inside which sat a cluster of tiny green slivers.

"Pine needles?" Catherine frowned, squinting at the little leaves.

"Not just any pine needles." Doc corrected. "These are Torrey pine needles. The Torrey Pine tree is an endangered species, one of the rarest in the world. It only grows in one tiny area of the California coast."

"Let me guess." Grissom tilted his head back and released a heavy sigh, already pretty certain of the answer. "San Diego?"


	11. Chapter 11

_**Review response to Lady:**_** Je utilise un traducteur, donc je espère que ce est logique ! Merci pour votre message :) Je suis heureux que vous aimez l'histoire jusqu'ici . Je vais devoir pratiquer mon français ! :)**

**Aussi, pour vous et les autres lecteurs français , se il vous plaît accepter mes plus sincères condoléances . Je ai visité Paris trois fois , ce est unebelle ville. Aujourd'hui , que la beauté réside dans les personnes, les hommages et le silence .**

**I amended the beginning of this chapter as a mark of respect for the victims of the Charlie Hebdo shooting. It is based on the minute silence that was held at my own place of work today.**

* * *

><p>It was a cold morning, but dry and unnaturally still.<p>

The team all let their heads bow forwards, and for a moment they felt themselves unified in heartbroken silence with the rest of the Las Vegas police force. Some submerged their hands in their pockets to stave off the unseasonable chill in the air; while others held them in front of themselves or clasped them behind their back. But nobody made a sound.

Nobody moved, save for the nervous shuffling of boots on the gravel footpath. Even those who were still trying to shake off their winter colds managed to keep the coughs at bay for a whole minute.

A car swung into the parking lot and, upon seeing the gathered crowd with their heads dipped in respect, the driver silenced the engine and waited patiently for the mark of respect to finish.

Finally, a man in full uniform stepped out of ranks and cleared his throat. Everybody looked up, awaiting the Sheriff's address.

For a few seconds, he didn't speak; just cast a sad gaze over the mass of officers, lab technicians and CSIs huddled together in the cramped parking lot. Finally, he straightened up and offered a curt nod.

"Thank you."

That was it. No other words of comfort or condolence. Just a simple thanks for giving up a humble moment of their time. And then, wordlessly, everybody filtered back to their jobs.

Today was a dark day for law enforcement everywhere, and the emotions felt by those in uniform could never be fully experienced and absorbed in sixty seconds; but it was a poignant moment nonetheless and one which would remain with the staff long after the group had dissolved.

* * *

><p>"Okay," Grissom coughed, suddenly feeling quite hoarse. "I know that today is a difficult day and everyone's a bit on edge."<p>

The guys found themselves unconsciously turning towards the main doors, where armed guards had been on watch all day for anything remotely untoward. The terror threat was always high, but it was particularly prevalent today.

"But we still have a job to do." He continued, dragging their attention back into the room. "So, catch me up. Where are we with the evidence?"

Like every other police force around the world, there was a cloud of glumness hovering over the staff; but the team managed to shake it off and return their gazes to the stack of evidence bags laid before them.

"Hodges is checking the rest of the trace from the victim to see if there's anything else that could identify a location." Nick began. "And Greg's still trying to chase up the reports into the deaths of all the other people on that photo."

"What about the camp?" Gil pressed. "Do we know anything else about it? Why it closed?"

"Well, I asked my grandmother what she remembers about me going in the Summer of 1979, and she denied all knowledge." Warrick explained.

"Really?" Catherine blinked. "She doesn't remember _anything_ about it?"

"Well, she remembers me going to camp a couple of times when I was a kid, but she insists that she doesn't recognise that specific camp."

"And you don't believe her?" Grissom queried, picking up on the suspicious tone in his voice.

"My grandma has the memory of an elephant." He rolled his green eyes skyward, confirming the boss' instinct. "And she's not a good liar. She knows something."

"Hey guys," Greg interrupted, bounding breathlessly into the room. "I just got off the phone with New York PD. They're faxing over the death reports for the Wyatt brothers."

"Hey Greg," Nick jumped in quickly. "You're from San Gabriel, right? That's not too far from San Diego. Surely you know something about this camp?"

"From 1979?" Greg scowled, joining the rest of the gang around the layout table.

"What about local rumours?" Warrick suggested. "School-yard horror stories, anything like that?"

"No." He insisted. "Nothing. I've never even heard of it before. I mean, I could ask my mom..."

"Good, do that." Grissom instructed bluntly. "The rest of you as well. We all have somebody we can ask; one of them has to remember something."

"What about you?" Catherine asked, sharing a reluctant look with Nick. Neither revelled in the idea of making that phone call.

"I'll speak to my mother as well." He agreed reluctantly, although it obviously wasn't a call he was going to revel in making. "Alright, let's go. We'll regroup in a few hours."

Gathering up their own evidence and sauntering off in various directions, the team disbanded for a second time today.

Only one person didn't move.

* * *

><p>Nick reached absently to his side, expecting his hand to brush the photograph that he had placed there earlier.<p>

But it was gone. Again.

Lifting his head sharply, he scanned the table and spotted it sitting directly in front of him, propped upright against the box.

Again.

"Damn it!" He cursed, slamming his fist down and casting his eyes to the ceiling. "Stop doing that!"

"Who are you talking to?" Greg cocked an eyebrow from the doorway.

"I'm ... the ..." Nick released a deep sigh and shook his head. "Never mind. Did you get hold of your mom?"

"Yeah, I did." The DNA tech pushed himself off the wall and ambled up to the desk.

"And?"

"She said that she didn't know anything about it." He shrugged. "But, it's the way she said it; like she _did_ recognise it but she didn't want to talk about it. It was weird."

"That's exactly what Warrick said." Nick mused. "That his grandmother recognised it, but that she was being cagey."

"What about you?" Greg enquired, turning it around on his mate. "Have you spoken to your parents?"

"Not yet." Nick shifted, checking his watch. "It's still early. I'll give them another hour, then I'll phone."

It wasn't that he didn't trust his parents to tell him the truth; but it was a clearly a touchy subject and he wasn't sure he wanted to panic his mother by bringing up a subject that could cause her great distress ... for whatever reason.

"You know, delaying it won't change the facts." Greg sent him a knowing look, gesturing to the photograph. "Something spooky is going on around here."

* * *

><p>Catherine did an abrupt u-turn into the lab, swinging herself elegantly around the door frame.<p>

"Hey, there you are." She greeted, sidling up to the bench.

"Hey." Sara jumped, swiftly closing the screen she had been reading on the computer. "Did you get anywhere with your mom?"

Cath emitted a disapproving grunt, causing an understanding smile to twitch as Sara's lips.

"I'll take that as a no."

"My mother is a lot of things, but a good liar is not one of them." Catherine shook her head, her golden curls dancing off her shoulders.

"She didn't give you anything?"

"No, but she knew what I was talking about." Cath scowled. "What about you? Did you get anything from your parents?"

Sara's gaze fell, her answer mumbled into her lap. Catherine opened her mouth to ask her again, but the words dissipated on her tongue.

Slowly reaching across the brunette, she picked up the folder sitting at her side.

"What's this?"

"You tell me." Sara frowned, surprised by her supervisor's sudden fixation on the document. "I found it in the victim's office in amongst a drawer full of paperwork. I was just about to search the internet for information on it."

Catherine wasn't listening. Pushing herself off the desk, she ambled back to the door with the folder still clutched tightly in her hands, her mind working ten steps ahead of her body.

"Catherine?" Sara queried, swivelling around in her seat to follow the woman's movements. "Where are you going?"

Catherine paused in the doorway, holding the document up as if it held all the answers.

"I'm going to ask my mother, in person, just what the hell is going on here."


	12. Chapter 12

**Lili: Thank you for your kind words, I'm glad you enjoy my stories. I will try not to disappoint with this one! I hope you and your people are coping with everything has happened recently. **

**I should point out that I am using a little bit of artistic licence with the characters ages in this story. **

* * *

><p>"Catherine!" Lily recoiled, visibly hurt by the accusation. "How could you say that?"<p>

"This isn't a game, mom." Catherine paced exasperatedly, clawing both hands through her hair. "A woman is dead, along with half a dozen cops. I could be next – or one of my team. Now, I know that you know something about this summer camp."

"I already told you, I don't." The older woman insisted, her blue eyes flicking anxiously around the living room. "I don't know anything."

"Then explain this." Catherine slammed the certificate onto the coffee table, watching her mother's face fall with dismay.

"Oh." Lily squeaked, covering her mouth in shock.

The lettering was identical, with the gentle swirls in the vowels and the tiny logo in the top right corner – a smiling fish leaping out of a lake.

_Lakeside Summer Camp Certificate of Participation_

A certificate just like this one had resided over Lily's dressing table at The Sands for years. Catherine had seen it many times; although, she realised now, it had never dawned on her to ask about it.

This one was blank, a spare. But the one that Catherine had received had her name written in delicate ink on the line underneath and was signed by the camp leader. For the entire drive home, she had been trying to picture that signature, to remember the name, but it was a nothing but a hazy blur now.

"Talk to me, mom." She begged, dropping wearily into a chair. "Help me to wrap my head around this."

Lily shuffled forwards, reaching out to let her fingertips dance over the faded piece of paper. Finally, she cleared her throat.

"It was a long time ago."

* * *

><p><em>Summer 1979<em>

They stumbled off the bus one at a time, blinking against the dazzling San Diego sun that glistened off the clearest blue lake they had ever seen.

"Wow." A young boy with a thick Texas accent croaked, his boyish grin spreading at the prospect of spending an entire summer in this beautiful playground. Beside him, an equally short, dark-skinned boy hopped excitedly from one foot to the other.

"This is so cool." He beamed. "I can't believe I'm actually here."

As the handful of children congregated beside the idling bus, a teenager with scruffy blonde hair shuffled over and beckoned them all towards the lakeside.

"Alright guys," he called out somewhat pensively. "Line up over here!"

A bored-looking red-head appeared at his side, her pouting mouth idly masticating a piece of chewing gum while her foot tapped impatiently on the dusty ground, waiting for the rabble of kids to settle down.

Shooting her male companion a sideways glance, she fought back a knowing smile.

"Don't be so nervous. They're just kids."

"Yeah." He agreed, swallowing hard. "I bet that's what the Ugandan Government said when Kony started the LRA."

Catherine didn't know what that meant, and she was certain that she didn't care. Shrugging it off, she clapped her hands together loudly to get everybody's attention.

"Alright, listen up! I'm Catherine, this is Gil. We're the team leaders in charge of you guys for the next few weeks."

A kid on the end of the row stuck his hand in the air, his lower lip quivering in excitement.

"When do we get to do swimming?" He asked urgently.

"Not yet." Catherine rolled her eyes, already tiring of this job. "First, we need to get you all moved into your dorms. So, girls over here and boys over there."

Three girls, the only females of the small group, filtered off to the right and the remaining five boys stepped to the left.

"Good." She smiled, satisfied that they were obedient at least. "Girls, follow me. Boys, follow Gilbert."

The camp itself was almost hexagonal in shape, with the lake taking up over half the space. A reception building was situated near the large wooden archway forming the entrance at the top of the hill. Next to that, there was a large dormitory for the staff made up of individual bedrooms. This is where Catherine and Gil would also be sleeping – one of the perks of being a team leader.

Near the lakeside, there were five smaller huts. They were simplistic in nature; wooden shacks with a series of bunkbeds inside and a solitary lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. But that wouldn't matter; the kids wouldn't be spending that much time indoors.

Each hut could house a maximum of eight children and, as this was only the first batch of campers booked in this summer, with more due to arrive in a few weeks time; they would only be using two of the dorms for now. Eva, Sara and Maria in one; Nick, Michael, Warrick and the Wyatt brothers in another.

It was a crude and minimalistic life; but for the next few weeks, it was home.

* * *

><p>"Wait, hold on a second." Catherine held up her hands. "In 1979, I was fourteen. How do I not remember any of this?"<p>

"It was one summer." Lily shrugged. "You only went because you were going to get kicked out of school if you didn't. It was that or summer school."

"But I was_ fourteen_!" She repeated, picking up the certificate and shaking it. "I should remember this."

When Lily didn't offer any further explanation, Catherine shook her head in frustration.

"Alright, so what happened? Why did the camp close?"

"We don't know." Lily sighed, pretending to pick a piece off fluff off her cardigan in an effort to avoid eye contact. "We got a phone call after a couple of weeks saying that the camp was closing and we had to come and collect you. The second group of kids hadn't even arrived yet."

"We?" Cath repeated. "So, you remember all the other parents being there as well?"

"Vaguely." Lily shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "Look, it was a long time ago. I don't see what this has to do with anything now?"

"It has to do with a murder investigation." Catherine spat angrily. "The daughter of the woman who owned that camp is dead."

Lily flinched.

"That's too bad." She acknowledged with genuine sadness in her voice. "But I still don't see what that has to do with something that happened thirty years ago."

"That's what we're trying to find out." Catherine exhaled tersely. "Everybody has asked their parents and they all denied knowing anything about it. Why would they do that, unless there was more to this story?"

Her expression suddenly turning as stoic as it had been at the start of the conversation, Lily pressed her lips together in a thin line.

"I don't know, Catherine." She stated coolly. "Why don't you ask them?"

* * *

><p>"So, she admitted that you went there but still wouldn't give you anything?" Nick scowled, his bangs ruffled and out of place from hours spent dragging his fingers through them.<p>

"No. Just that I was a 'team leader', but the camp closed a couple of weeks in. I guess Grissom was the other leader, since we were the oldest two in the photo."

"But she wouldn't say why she denied knowing about it?" Sara pressed. "Or why the camp closed?"

"No. Nothing."

"Something weird's going on here." Warrick frowned. "Something _seriously_ weird. I mean, if you and Grissom were teenagers, you should be able to remember it."

"You know, I think there's only one way we're going to solve this thing." Nick pursed his lips, flicking his gaze from Warrick, to Sara, to Catherine and back again. "It's time to go back to summer camp."


	13. Chapter 13

**A tiny snippet of Hodges, for your wonderful patience :)  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Grissom wasn't really sure what reaction he was hoping for; but the hysterical laughter he received was certainly not it.<p>

"You are kidding, right?" The Sheriff spluttered. "This is a joke."

Grissom's stoic facial muscles barely twitched at the disbelieving reaction.

"No." He deadpanned.

After a moment's stunned hesitation, the Sheriff pushed himself out of his chair and began to pace around the entomologist's dingy office.

"Let me get this straight." He ran his tongue thoughtfully over his top lip. "You want to take your entire team to San Diego to find some abandoned summer camp, because there's a tiny chance it _might_ be connected to a possible murder case – even though the coroner hasn't found a definite cause of death and you don't have any suspects or theories about how the death is connected to this summer camp?"

Grissom cocked his head to the side, replaying the brusque summary in his mind to check he hadn't missed anything.

"Yes." He agreed at last, watching his boss' face fall with dismay.

"And you want me to pay for this?" He clarified.

"Yes.

The next sixty seconds was filled with the sound of stubborn silence as both men faced off across the desk.

"You know something, Gil;" The Sheriff brandished a finger, his voice dropping a whole octave. "This is why your name always comes up in the monthly financial reviews."

* * *

><p>"Even if the Sheriff agrees, which I highly doubt, I'm not sure how going to California is going to help us solve this case." Catherine mused around a mouthful of blueberry muffin.<p>

"Well, if the camp was closed as suddenly as your mom said, there might still be some paperwork there that can tell us why." Nick pointed out, determined to defend his suggestion. "And if we figure out why the camp closed, we could solve the death of our victim and all the cops from that photo who've died recently."

"You gotta admit, it is pretty freaky." Warrick chimed in.

"I guess." She agreed absently, her gaze wandering across the room to a quiet figure curled unobtrusively in the corner of the couch. "What do you think, Sara?"

The brunette lifted her head from her book, finding herself faced with three quizzical pairs of eyes.

"Do we even know if this camp is still there?" She asked at last, sitting further upright. "If it was closed under suspicious circumstances, it might have been knocked down."

"I called the San Diego police department." Nick countered her argument hurriedly. "It's definitely still there."

"What did they say about it?" Cath pressed, her hope suddenly peaked again.

"Nothing much." He sighed. "They were pretty cagey actually. I get the feeling that they didn't really want to discuss that part of their history."

"Sounds about right." Catherine rolled her eyes.

"Yeah," The Texan continued urgently. "All the more reason we need to go there ourselves. If nobody else is going to help us get to the bottom of this thing, we're going to have to do it ourselves."

His desperate monologue was cut off by the familiar shuffling footsteps of their supervisor; and they all turned their attention expectantly to the door.

Gil paused for a moment, startled by the

"Well?" Nick raised his eyebrows impatiently when he didn't speak. In response, Grissom merely raised his hands in a helpless shrug.

"Pack your bags." He sighed, a mix of apprehension and reluctance flooding his voice. "It looks like we're going to San Diego."

* * *

><p>Predictably, the boys were the first to arrive; their cars sweeping into the parking lot before the sun was even in the sky.<p>

It was a cool morning, and dry; although the evidence of the previous night's rain was still prevalent as they dragged their suitcases along the gravel path and tried to avoid the puddles of standing water.

"Jesus, it's cold." Nick blew into his cupped hands. "Where's everyone else at?"

"Grissom and Brass are inside, keeping warm like normal people." David Hodges announced his presence from the top of the steps, his lab coat whipping around his legs in the breeze. Warrick gave him a once over, curling his nose up.

"You know you're not supposed to wear those things outside." He noted.

Hodges sent him a snide look.

"Conrad's really not happy about this, you know." He pointed out. "He doesn't see why you have _all_ have to go San Diego? And you know something; I'm inclined to agree with him."

"That's why we're the investigators and you're just a lab rat." Nick teased chirpily.

"What about Sanders? He's a lab rat too."

"Not for long." Warrick countered. "Besides, he was on that photograph along with the rest of us. He has as much a right as anyone to be there."

"You know, I was thinking about that." Nick hummed; turning away from David, to his visible annoyance. "Greg was only a toddler in that photo. Who sends a toddler to a summer camp, alone?"

"I'll just go back inside then, shall I?" Hodges shouted at their backs. "Someone has to keep the place going, after all!"

"I don't know." Warrick answered, ignoring the tech. "Maybe we'll find out when we get there."

"Well, I hope we find _something_. Come on," Nick shivered, plunging his hands into his deep coat pockets. "Let's go wait inside. I need a cup of coffee."

"Coffee, before a long bus drive." Warrick frowned, shooting Hodges a look. "You know there are no rest stops until the California border, right?"

* * *

><p>The 'bus' was something of a disappointment. Rather than the minibus they had been expecting to see that morning, their ride to California was a dilapidated cross between the Mystery Machine and Dweeb's VW van from the Ghostbusters comics.<p>

Faded pink, with an unstable ladder affixed to the back doors and a piece of duct tape holding the licence plate in place, it barely looked like it could make it to Pahrump, never mind Los Angeles. There were three seats in the front, three more in the middle and a single seat at the back, next to the rear exit.

One thing was for sure; it was not a vehicle designed with comfort in mind.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me." Nick stammered, his jaw dropping open in disbelief.

"What?" Grissom shrugged, dropping his suitcase at his feet and staring proudly up at the van. "You should be thankful the Sheriff agreed to fund our transport at all. If not for that, you'd be walking to San Diego."

"By the looks of that heap of crap, we will be walking to San Diego." Warrick muttered, earning him a smile from Sara and Greg.

"Enough." Gil raised a hand to silence the complaints. "There's a rack on the roof for cases. We leave in ten minutes. If you need to bathroom, I suggest you go now."

"That means you, Nicky." Warrick smirked sarcastically.

Forgoing the final bathroom call – and after a quick game of 'Rock, Paper, Scissors' – Sara scrambled up the ladder and balanced herself precariously on the edge of the roof; while Warrick passed each case up for her to secure to the roof rack.

"If anyone has anything valuable in their bags, I'd carry them in the van because I don't know how secure this thing is." She warned, tugging the cables as tight as she dared without snapping them.

"Jesus Cath," Warrick groaned, heaving her bag onto his shoulder. "What, have you packed Lindsey in here too?"

"Shoes, Warrick." She grinned playfully. "You never know how many you might need."

"What have you done with Lindsey?" Greg enquired.

"She's spending a week with Nancy and Jeremy." She sighed, a morose look crossing her features. "Although I doubt she'll even notice the difference. She spends more time there than she does at home anyway."

"It could be worse." Sara pointed out, hopping down from the ladder. "She could be going to summer camp for a week instead."

Cath could only smile tightly at the irony of leaving her daughter at home while _she_ went to camp.

Once Nick, Gil and finally a beleaguered Jim Brass emerged from the lab, each one trembling against the early morning chill, the team did a final headcount before eventually cracking open the doors of the cramped little van.

"Okay, hold on a second." Nick held up his hands. "How do we decide who's going in the front?"

"What's to decide?" Jim asked, breezing past him easily.

"Enjoy the view of the back of my head, Stokes." Warrick chuckled, joining the detective and Grissom on the front seat.

"It'll be alright, Nicky." Catherine patted him on the arm. "We'll even let you sit by the window."

"Man, I hate sitting in the back." Nick grumbled, climbing in next to Sara.

"What are you complaining about?" Greg chimed in from the very back seat next to the rear exit. "You want to complain about being in the back, get your ass back here."

"Alright!" Gil snapped. "Enough. Is everybody strapped in?"

To a chorus of 'yes' from the back of the bus, he started the engine. It spluttered twice, coughed out a cloud of black smoke and finally turned over.

"Oh God." Catherine groaned. "This is it. This is how we're going to die."

"I'm taking my seatbelt off." Greg muttered. "If this thing blows up, I'm not getting trapped in it."


	14. Chapter 14

**As you are such a wonderful, patient readership, this chapter is a bit longer :) And I even threw in a large dose of Cath/Sara interaction, for your pleasure :)**

* * *

><p>"Alright," Warrick huffed, slamming the hood of the van down amid a cloud of pale grey smoke. "Who had Barstow?"<p>

Grissom lifted his head from his hands tiredly.

"Had it for what?" He asked, puzzled.

"In the bet on how far we'd get before this useless hunk of metal finally died on us."

"I told you it was a piece of crap." Nick chimed in unhelpfully.

Gil rolled his eyes, pushing himself to his feet and dusting off his pants.

"Alright, it's almost three pm. It'll be getting dark in a couple of hours. I think we ought to find a motel and look into fixing the van tomorrow."

"A motel?" Catherine repeated, gazing around them at the deserted scene. "Do you see a motel around here anywhere?"

"I think we passed one about six miles back." He turned to stare down the empty stretch of road, squinting against the low sun.

Without another word, he set off walking back in the direction they had just come from.

The team shared an exasperated look, before Nick begrudgingly cast his gaze up at the suitcases still precariously affixed to the roof rack.

"It's alright Griss," he shouted after their departing boss. "We'll get the bags!"

* * *

><p>"See." He beamed proudly, placing his hands on his hips and staring up at the ramshackle row of rooms. "I said we'd find it."<p>

"You also said it was six miles." Catherine grumbled, grabbing Sara's arm for balance as she attempted to re-adjust her heeled shoe against the blister forming on her foot.

"You guys stay here," he instructed, ignoring her complaint. "I'll go see if they've got any rooms available."

"Yeah, 'cause this place looks real popular." Warrick mocked, gesturing to the stretch of empty parking spaces outside the darkened rooms.

Greg, who had perched himself on a low wall while they waited for Gil's return, turned his eyes skyward and sighed.

"I wonder what we're going to find at this camp site." He mused.

"Let's just see if we find the campsite first." Sara pointed out, dancing from one foot to the other in a failing attempt to keep warm.

"If we hadn't had to stop half a dozen times, we'd have already found it." Catherine pointed out.

"Well, I'm sorry." Nick threw his hands up. "Next time we'll just skip lunch, shall we?"

* * *

><p>Surprisingly enough, the motel had rooms to spare.<p>

The owner, so utterly delighted was she by the prospect of paying customers, hurriedly scampered down the walkway unlocking the rooms and poking her head inside each one to check it was in a suitable condition for guests.

She was a short, flustered lady of about fifty with untameable fading blonde curls and thin lips that almost disappeared into her face. Her accent suggested the deep south; Georgia, or Louisiana perhaps.

When she got to the fourth room, Gil quickly stopped her.

"It's okay, three will do." He assured her. "We'll bunk up."

"We will?" Catherine clarified.

"Okay," the woman drawled, gesturing towards the reception room. "If you need anything at all, you folks just met me know."

"Actually, there is something else you can do for us." Grissom smiled. "We need the number for a mechanic."

* * *

><p>After a few months of being in the field, cheap motel rooms all started to look the same.<p>

This one was no exception.

The double bed in the centre was covered with a tasteless yellow-brown sheet and had a tiny wooden table on either side like scarred little bookends.  
>An ancient old TV and a tacky 1980s lamp stood on a chest of drawers at the end of the room. The bathroom, a tiny cupboard of a room at the back, almost resembled the scene from Psycho; except instead of blood, it was coated in a thick layer of grime and soap scum.<p>

It was bland, to say the least.

"Well," Cath sighed, dropping her case onto the stained carpet. "I guess we may as well get some sleep; since it looks like we might be walking to San Diego tomorrow."

"They might get the van fixed." Sara offered optimistically.

"Yeah, sure." Cath scoffed, pointing at the bed. "Which side do you want?"

"I don't care." The brunette shrugged, keeping her gaze low as she picked up her bag and headed towards the bathroom with it. "And don't worry; I'll keep my hands to myself."

It took a whole minute for the blithe comment to sink in, and when it did Catherine's face fell with dismay.

She had thought that, with everything else going on at the moment, they had put their fight behind them.

Evidently, Sara's feelings on the matter ran deeper than she first realised.

* * *

><p>"Alright, ready?" Nick raised his hand into a fist. "On three..."<p>

"One, two, three!"

They all stared down at their hands, before matching smiles spread across Nick and Warrick's faces; and a frown planted itself on Greg's.

"Sorry, G." Warrick shrugged non-apologetically. "Looks like you're tailing it."

"I hope you both washed your feet today." He sulked, staring miserably at the bed. He could tell without even sitting on it that he would not be able to sleep. It just _looked_ uncomfortable.

Never mind the fact that he would be upside down and pinned between his two colleagues.

The mattress creaked ominously under their combined weight, the decrepit springs adjusting themselves as the boys shuffled into position. Nick had elected to sleep closer to the door, although he quickly regretted it when he felt a cool draft against his back.

"Hey, shove over a bit." He nudged Greg, who in turn shuffled closer to Warrick.

"Whoa, make some space people." Warrick complained, shifting until he found a position which was comfortable enough to sleep in without kicking Greg in the face. "Okay, we all good?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Greg mocked, burying his face in his pillow. Satisfied that everyone was suitably tucked up; Warrick switched off the dim light beside the bed and settled himself in for a long night of staring at the cracked ceiling tiles.

Nick rolled onto his side, staring past Greg's toes to his friend's face.

"Hey Rick, can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Does Sara seem different to you lately?"

"Different how?" Warrick turned his head, barely able to make out the silhouette of his colleague in the darkness.

"I don't know." Nick shrugged, toying with the thin blanket. "Just different. Sad, I guess."

"I thought you weren't talking to her."

"I'm..." he trailed off. He had been angry with Sara – and Greg – for insinuating that he was selfish for enjoying the fruits of his labour, even if they had come to nothing in the end when the promotion was cut. But she was still his friend, and he cared about her.

And, though he would never admit it out loud, a tiny part of him felt guilty. He had been brought up to be gracious in success and defeat; a modest trait he had forgotten until recently.

"Maybe she's just freaked out about this case." Warrick suggested at last. "I know I am."

"Yeah," Nick agreed half-heartedly. Mirroring Warrick's position, he rolled onto his back and folded his arms beneath his head. "Maybe."

* * *

><p>"Alright," Jim dropped onto the bed, feeling it sink under his weight. "Give it up. What's your motive?"<p>

Grissom glanced up with a blank expression, feigning ignorance.

"What?"

"Come on Gil," the detective laughed. "You can't fool me. What exactly are you trying to prove with this little excursion. You know as well as I do that we're not going to find anything at this camp site."

For a moment, Grissom faltered. Then, he sighed.

"No, actually, I don't." He ambled over to the bed and sat down with his back to Brass. "I was nineteen years old when that photograph was taken. _Nineteen_."

"And?"

"And I don't remember it. I don't remember any of it."

"Come on, Gil. It was a long time ago."

Grissom raised an eyebrow.

"Not that long ago." He remarked, mildly insulted. "And it's not just that."

"So," Jim pressed. "What is it?"

Grissom licked his lips, contemplating how best to answer the question.

"I asked my mother about the camp. She denied all knowledge of it."

"Just like everyone else's parents."

"No, not like everyone else's." Gil scowled. "My mother is a lot of things; but she has never lied to me. She's protected me from things that she knew would hurt me. But this time she looked me straight in the eye and lied to me."

"So, you hauled the whole team out here just to prove a point to your mother?"

"No." He snapped, dragging a hand over his cropped hair. "I'm doing because there's only one reason she would lie to me. She's scared of something; and I want to know what."

* * *

><p>The wind rattling against the windows caused an involuntary shudder to ripple through her body beneath the thin sheets and she gripped them tighter in her clenched fist.<p>

She could hear Sara's steady breathing behind her, but she knew that the brunette was still awake too.

Rolling over, she stared at the back of Sara's head for a long minute, studying how her waves fanned across the pillow like a stormy tide, almost shimmering in the slender crack of light seeping between the curtains from the streetlight outside.

She didn't know whether it was the dark, the cold, or just the awkwardness of sharing a bed with a colleague; but for some reason she felt the need to fill the silence.

So she started talking.

"Years ago, when I first started dancing, I was really young and I ... I guess I didn't know what I was getting in to. I was pretty green at first; it was such a huge change to my life." She began softly, idly extending a finger and twirling one of Sara's curls around it. "There was this older dancer, Melissa. She sort of took me under her wing, showed me the ropes when I was first starting out."

Sara hadn't reacted when she started speaking, but Catherine could tell that she was listening by the slight hitch in her breath when her twitching finger brushed against the back of her neck.

"She was brilliant in those early days. We got on really well. She was friendly – very friendly. Flirty, I guess. She would touch me and kiss me, just playfully. It was confusing, at times; but then everything in my life at that time was confusing. Sexual confusion is just part and parcel of the job when you spend all night surrounded by naked women. I just assumed it was part of that lifestyle; that that's how it worked. A part of me was flattered to receive that kind of attention from someone who was so talented and popular."

She paused, waiting to see if Sara was going to say anything. When she didn't, Cath continued, untangling her hand from the brunette's hair and starting to doodle a mindless pattern on her shoulder blade instead.

"One night we finished work and went back to her apartment for a couple of drinks. And they turned into a few more drinks. Before I even knew how it had happened, we ended up in bed together. And don't get me wrong, it wasn't an unpleasant experience. It was unexpected, certainly. But what really threw me was the way she reacted to it. She pretty much ignored me after that, barely even acknowledged me. About a week later I saw her with another new dancer, a pretty 20-year-old country girl looking for a big city life. That's when I figured out her game. I felt like everything before that night had just been a way for her to get what she wanted. I felt used."

"Why are you telling me this?"

The question, soft as it was, startled her out of her spiel.

"Because I want you to understand my reaction, when you told me what you did." She shrugged, changing position and letting her fingertips graze the soft skin of Sara's shoulder. "Because I'm not good at apologising. Because you haven't said a word to me in four hours. Take your pick."

Sara turned ever so slightly towards her, but not enough to meet her eye.

"We aren't all like that, you know."

Cath smiled weakly in the darkness.

"I know, sweetie." She mumbled. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just that, after what happened with Melissa, I got pretty good at sussing people out. Except you. After her, you're the only person who's managed to confuse me like that."

"What do you mean?" She could practically see Sara's features contorting into a frown.

"Well, you keep things close to your chest. You're an enigma." She smiled softly. "In all honesty, you got under my skin the day I met you and you never really left."

Finally, Sara rolled onto her back and threw and insulted look towards the strawberry-blonde.

"You make me sound like a parasite." She stated indignantly.

"No!" Cath slapped her lightly on the arm. "I just mean that ... I can't read you. You puzzle me."

Sara stared at her with an unreadable expression for a few seconds, before rolling back towards the window.

"I don't want to be that way."

Catherine opened her mouth to reply, before it dawned on her that the quiet confession might not have meant what she first thought.

Pursing her lips together, she silently slid a hand up Sara's bare arm and let it come to rest on her shoulder. They wouldn't speak for the rest of the night.

There was really nothing more either had to say to each other.


	15. Chapter 15

**More Cath/Sara for you! In the next chapter, they will actually reach the camp ... maybe**

* * *

><p>It was a dreadful noise – like nails dragging down a chalkboard; a cat's pained shriek in the middle of the night. It was all around her, echoing off the high stone walls that seemed to block every escape route. Somewhere in the distance, it sounded like someone was laughing at her; enjoying her mental torture.<p>

Then the noise changed, turning into a pitifully soft cry. And as her eyes adjusted to the shadows, dancing before her like impious devils, Sara realised with horror that it was coming from her.

She bolted upright, her whole body emitting an involuntary shudder.

Catherine's hands, hot against her sweat-drenched skin, tightened on her arms.

"Sara, honey?" She called out, her voice weak and tentative. "It's okay. Everything's alright."

Sara cast her frightened eyes around the room, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths while she tried to acclimatise herself.

"Where ... where are we?" She gasped, shaking her co-worker off and clawing both hands fretfully through her damp hair.

"Barstow." Catherine answered, rocking back on her heels. "Our bus broke down, we're in a motel. You remember?"

Sara nodded slowly, her eyes gradually softening as the dull surroundings became more familiar. The motel, the bus ... the camp.

"I'm sorry." She hiccupped sheepishly, swiping a hand across her cheek to disguise the crystal tears starting to fall.

"Hey, it's okay." Cath assured her, leaning forward again to wrap the girl into a cautious hug. "It's alright, honey."

Sara endured the embrace for a moment, before her discomfort took over and she shimmied away.

"I'm sorry." She repeated quietly. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Its fine, Sara." Catherine told her firmly, hiding her disappointment at the cold reaction to her attempts at reassurance. "I was only half asleep, anyway."

She paused, waiting for Sara to make the next move; but the brunette remained as she was, her back against the headboard and her gaze buried in the wrinkled folds of the blanket across her lap. When she showed no intention of speaking again, Cath reached out to brush her flyaway waves tenderly behind her ear.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Sara looked up, her dark eyes flashing with something indistinguishable in the darkness. "No, I'm fine."

"Okay." Cath agreed slowly, though it was painfully obvious from Sara's continued laboured breathing that she was not fine. "Why don't you try and get some more sleep? We'll have to be up in a couple hours."

As they both curled back up under the thin covers, she kept one eye on Sara; even when the brunette rolled away to stare at the window. Catherine could still hear a slight hitch in her breath every now and then and had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her; sensing that she would only be offering comfort to herself by doing so.

Then again, a little consolation for herself would not go amiss right now.

Despite the obvious concern for her young colleague, she couldn't help but feel a tiny bit relieved that she was not the only one being taunted by bad dreams lately.

Perhaps her own boogieman had infiltrated Sara's subconscious, too.

* * *

><p>"You know what would really spruce this place up?" Greg asked as he emerged from the bathroom, towel-drying his spiky hair. "Water pressure."<p>

"Yeah," Warrick chuckled. "I think if they're going to invest in anything, it ought to be working light bulbs."

"And some curtains that actually keep the light out." Nick chimed in. "Of all the cheap motels in California, Grissom really picked a corker, didn't he?"

"Well, look on the bright side," Warrick pointed out, neatly folding his clothes back into his suitcase and patting them down. "At least it's got proper walls and a ceiling, which is probably more than we'll get at that summer camp."

"What do you mean?" Greg asked, giving up on his hair and leaving it to cascade freely across his head in a fluffy mess. "Please tell me we're not going to be sleeping in tents?"

"No, more likely wooden huts." The dark-skinned CSI clarified. "But they'll be about as cold as tents."

"Oh man, I hadn't thought of that." Nick sighed, sinking onto the edge of the bed. "I remember the camp in Texas I used to go to, it was like the arctic at night. We used to end up huddled up on one bed sometimes, just to keep warm."

"Oh, I think I can live with that." Greg smirked, his chocolate brown eyes glinting with a hint of mischief.

"Yeah, fat chance, boy." Warrick snorted, snapping his case closed. "Like Sara's going to let you anywhere near her bed."

* * *

><p>'<em>Things will look different in the morning.' <em>

It was a common phrase, and one which Catherine's own mother loved to throw at her whenever she was having a crisis.

In this case, however, it seemed fairly accurate. She had spent much of the night contemplating how best to address the nightmare with Sara; but in the cold light of day, she decided it was not her place to pry into the other woman's dreams.

Instead, she decided, she would wait until Sara came to her to discuss it. _If_ she came to her, of course.

She could only hope that there would not be too many stop-offs on the way to their destination today, as her appearance was way below her usual high standard. Between lack of sleep, an inhumanely cold shower and the motel's pathetic excuse for a hair dryer, she looked like she'd just spent an evening ?

Sara, on the other hand, did not appear remotely phased by her own lack of rest. She was up, showered and dressed before Catherine was even awake. The blonde had arisen to find her sat against the headboard chewing on a cereal bar, with a book propped up against her legs.

And that is exactly where she remained when, as Cath tried fruitlessly to fix her haggard complexion, she spoke up unexpectedly.

"What you were talking about last night ... do you regret what happened?"

"No." Catherine answered easily. "I don't regret."

Sara lifted her gaze over the top of her book with a raised eyebrow.

"Never?"

"Nope." Cath turned away from the stained mirror to face her partner. "I don't look back, so I can't regret."

"But you still try to turn back the clock with expensive beauty products?"

The bemused comment slipped out before she could recall it and, for a moment, she thought she had overstepped a line, as Catherine paused in the middle of moisturising her neck.

"Touché." The older woman commented at last, capping the tube and massaging the excess oil into her hands. Leaning off the bed, she dragged her boots over. They were still coated in a fine layer of sand from their long walk yesterday evening.

"So, what do you regret?" She enquired; both intrigued and surprised that the cagey young woman had initiated such a personal conversation.

Sara sighed, discarding her book and pulling her knees up to her chest protectively.

"Coming to Vegas."

Catherine sat upright, mild alarm making its way across her features.

"Seriously?"

Sara met her questioning stare, her expression blank and indecipherable.

"If you had to describe me to someone else, what would you say?"

Cath tipped her head back, contemplating the query.

"I would say that you were passionate about your work; that you're dedicated and hard-working. That you're stubborn."

The ghost of a smile drifted across Sara's face.

"Right. A workaholic."

"I suppose." Catherine drawled, attempting to figure out where this conversation was going. "Sara..."

"I wasn't always like this, you know." She cut her off with a sad sigh. "Back in San Francisco, I had friends. I had a life outside of work."

Catherine turned fully to face her, but Sara had fixed her attention on the raindrops racing each other down the window.

"Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes." She admitted. "I guess I just felt more at home in San Francisco. Things were easier there."

"So, why did you move?" Cath challenged gently. "I mean, I know you came here to investigate what happened to Holly, but why did you stay?"

Sara shrugged, that same wispy smile dancing on her lips but never quite settling there.

"Grissom." She answered honestly. "He asked me to ... so I did. I guess it was nice to feel wanted, even if only professionally."

Catherine blinked, surprised by the unexpectedly brutal confession. Licking her lips, she reached a hand across the bed towards her colleague.

"Sara, hon..."

Whatever pearls of wisdom she was about to offer died on her tongue, as a sharp knock at the door interrupted their unprecedented heart-to-heart. Nick's head appeared around the doorframe, a cheeky grin on his face.

"You girls coming, or shall we go without you?"

"Is that a genuine question?" Cath half-joked. To be honest, she wouldn't really mind getting left out of this little trip and she suspected that Sara was having doubts, too, about what they might find there.

"We leave in five." He shrugged, a non-answer, before darting back out.

Sara shuffled off the bed and turned to Catherine with a pleasant, if emotionless, smile.

"Time to go." She pursed her lips. "I'll see you outside."

"Yeah," Catherine scowled, saddened by the sudden loss of whatever connection she had been about to make with her evasive subordinate. "I'll see you there."

* * *

><p>They hadn't been back on the bus for that long; but with no working air-con, it felt like it had been hours by the time Grissom swung the clapped-out machine into the deserted gas station and killed the clattering engine.<p>

A bored teenager, much in need of a haircut, acknowledged their presence with an eye-roll and ambled slowly over from his booth to see what they wanted. Grissom spotted his approach and jogged to meet him half way.

The rest of the team took the unexpected pit-stop as an opportunity to stretch their legs and clambered out, squinting against the sun that was trying to break through the heavy grey clouds.

"Man, I needed that." Warrick groaned, feeling his back snap.

"I tell you what I need." Greg mused, peering through the mucky windows into the tiny shop adjacent to the gas station. "A sandwich."

"Ooh, I like you're thinking." Nick agreed, the two of them casting a quick glance back at Gil – who was animatedly asking the kid for directions – before scampering inside towards the glowing food cabinet.

Warrick spotted their plan and moved to follow, but Catherine caught his arm and tugged him out of earshot of everyone else.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" She shuffled, throwing intermittent glances around the bus to where Sara and Brass were engaged in a furrowed-brow conversation about the state of their vehicle.

"What's up?" He frowned, a little worried by her twitchy behaviour.

"Sara." She answered enigmatically. "I think this whole trip is getting to her. She had a nightmare last night, and I don't think it's her first."

"Really?" He blinked. He had suspected that their troubling case was the reason for her secretive conversation, but this was not what he expected her to say. "Was she okay?"

"Yeah, that's the weird thing. She was tossing and turning and she made this really frightened little noise, woke herself up with it. Then she pretty much went straight back to sleep."

"Well, maybe it's just everything getting to her. It has been a crazy few days." He suggested. "Did you ask her about it?"

"Is there any point?" She countered. "She wouldn't tell me anyway."

"Fair point." Warrick laughed. "Look, like I told Nick last night, she's probably just a bit freaked out about everything."

"I guess." She agreed, chewing pensively on her lower lip. "Why, what was Nick saying about it?"

"Oh, nothing. He was worried about her last night; said she's seemed kind of sad lately."

"Yeah?" She feigned ignorance. "How so?"

"I don't know, he thinks she's been too quiet or something. To be honest, I think he just feels guilty for acting like an ass over the promotion."

The conversation was cut off by the sound of Grissom's loafers padding hurriedly towards them.

"Okay, this kid says we need to carry on to the San Clemente Canyon Freeway, onto route 67, past the High School and then take a left and follow the mountain road to the camp site."

"The 'mountain' road?" Sara clarified. "You really think this bus is going to make it across a mountain range?"

"Yes," he snapped, rolling his map up and sticking it under his arm. "I do."

"Okay, well I'm going to the bathroom before we set off, just in case." Warrick said, exchanging a sideways look with Catherine and shuffling off out of the firing line.

With the younger members of the team preparing themselves for a bumpy ride across the hills, Cath sidled up to where Grissom was still pouring over the route he was supposed to take.

"Sara might have a point." She cleared her throat. "Don't you think it would be wise to ditch the bus and hire a van or something?"

"Catherine, the Sheriff barely agreed to us doing this as it was. I don't think he'll be too thrilled if we blow our budget on a hired van."

"True, but he'll be even less thrilled if he has to replace the entire graveyard shift because we all froze to death in the mountains when this thing broke down on us."

Gil shot her an impatient look.

"Catherine..." he held up his hands, almost begging her to be complacent. "Will you just go and get the others, so we can get moving ... please?"

Gil Grissom was not a man who was easy to read, but she had worked with him long enough to know that something else was bothering him besides this case. However, she also realised that this was not the best place to challenge him on his bad mood. Holding up her hands in surrender, she sauntered off in search of the rest of the team.

Whether it was just the case, or something deeper coming into play, there was something unsettling going on with the night shift right now.


End file.
